


Pennywise and The Losers Club

by SkyHighDisco



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AU, Action, Angst, BTS included, Behind the Scenes, Fluff, Friendship, Funny, Gen, He's just a little baby, Humor, Most of the time, Pennywise doesn't know human stuff, Pennywise is good, Platonic Relationships, The Losers have to teach him, they're just having fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-06 20:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 55,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15893856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyHighDisco/pseuds/SkyHighDisco
Summary: Just a bunch of oneshots involving Losers having to deal with friendly Pennywise. good!Pennywise AU. (with movie BTS scenarios included) The whole series began back in November 2017 and is already majorly posted on FF.





	1. Golf and gypping

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to grayorca for being an awesome beta on this one and doing a marvelous job! It would've sucked without her help. :)

„All right, Ding-Dong. Stand by and watch the master of chips kick the ass of this grass."

In brutal, frank truth, Eddie didn't know shit about chips or pitches or lobs or grass or golf in general, or what he was doing with a ridiculous, long, knotty branch that was imitating a golf club on relatively smooth terrain, otherwise known as 29 Neibolt's backyard. The Losers had managed to tend to the grass some weeks earlier, and just making the place look nicer made them feel all the more comfortable.

The clown didn't seem to mind having his lawn tidied, but then again he never showed what he appreciated and what not. The said thing was currently crouching in a squat twenty five feet away, ridiculously standing out in his faded-out Victorian suit with huge, long-fingered hands touching the ground. Having known It long enough, Eddie was willing to bet It was purposefully imitating a dog. But then again, maybe the peculiarly-friendly demon was just trying to get as close to the hole dug in the ground next to it, which Eddie had proclaimed his 'cup'.

Pennywise shot him a look at the sound of the boy's voice and cocked his head to the side, making the soft bells on his outfit chime sweetly. Eddie bit his lip and chose to eye a small coulter pinecone that was meant to be the ball. He should've gotten used to it by now, but no matter the circumstances those unnatural eyes refusing to stick to one direction were still difficult to look at.

Bringing his stick closer to the target, stooping briefly to gauge his aim, Eddie found himself asking again just what the hell he was trying to prove. How many times has he tried playing golf before? That's right, none. With his father deceased and his mother whose paranoia could match a rabbit, Eddie had little opportunity to officially experience any kind of sport. Unless he took steps now, that would not change for years yet, if ever.

The boy suppressed a gulp, shielding his eyes as he glanced up into waning sunlight. With any luck, the one part of the gathered club that was in the house would opt to remain there, as he wished. Nobody needed to see him fail miserably. They might as well finish the random, absurd argument they had started, and now continued in no small part thanks to Richie. The distraction it provided left Eddie outside, alone if not with this unpredictable immortal creature who was in desperate need of socializing after a long week alone.

All the better to try now. Who knew when he might next get a chance?

Shaking those thoughts, Eddie swayed the stick's end into position, close to the cone, practically feeling the clown's eyes pry into it. He was just hoping Pennywise didn't really think he was meant to behave like a dog. If he had any manner of luck whatsoever, the creature wasn't gonna chase after the brown thing to mercilessly chew it up the moment it flew toward the hole. Eddie had seen those teeth in action. And they weren't a fucking joke.

Venting a breath, he took a brave swing and snapped the stick against the plant seed. It flew away farther than he hoped it would, and for a split second, he was convinced he was right. The cone was as good as gone.

Until his 'ball' had rebelliously jigged midair, bounced, and rolled into the grass 'trap' on the other side of Pennywise, who followed it with a blank look. The cone tumbled a bit further, struggling to keep up the miserable whiff of velocity Eddie had provided it with and then rolled to an anti-climatic stop.

The clown looked at him.

„You missed", Pennywise instructed helpfully.

„Yeah, thanks, Sherlock", Eddie mumbled, pulling another pinecone from his pocket and throwing it lightly in the air. Damn right nobody was gonna see this.

He tried another over-the-shoulder swing. The second cone fared worse, as it flew five feet over Pennywise's head, bounced off the chain-link fence, and was lost in the undergrowth. The third attempt inexplicably sent the ball flying backwards. The fact that Eddie somehow managed to hit himself in the face with his stick along the way was best put on the ''Forget Immediately'' list.

Looking on, the clown spared him such a bemused look that Eddie felt dumber than ever before. Well, not as much as when the cosmic demon pointed at the hole to his right with a long gloved finger. „The— the hole is right here, Eds."

Like it was that easy.

„Shut up!" He pointed the stick at the crouching clown.

„No, no, Dingles is right, Eddie." Another unwelcome voice joined the blossoming argument. "The original golf hole is meant to be 4.25 inches in size. Yours is about three times bigger, so missing it seriously makes me think you should get your eyes checked."

„Look who's talking, foureyes", Eddie growled, hackles up, not sparing Richie the reward of a second glance, cursing what he had only hoped to avoid. He should've never started this folly in the first place. He should've just made the clown chase those dumb cones. Better yet, he should've done that, then joined in on the pointless argument.

He took an angry, aimless swipe at the yard with the stick. „Whoever said that golf was a relaxing sport was a lying asshole."

„L-Language, Eddie." Bill and Beverly joined the audience, including little Georgie, who looked like everything was fine, and when Georgie looked like that, one could rest assured that everything was settled. The kid had a big grin on his face that would've been contagious in any other scenario. Eddie was objectively glad he was finding all this hilarious, but he was trying to prove a point here.

He half-glanced, half-glared back at the forming crowd. „You didn't cut the grass well."

„Wait, are you serious?" Beverly inquired, sipping on a straw. „Did I just hear you shifting the blame onto us using the dumbest excuse possible?"

„Of _course_ he's shifting the blame", Richie rubbed more salt on Eddie's wound. "He's in standoff. He doesn't want to admit he can't do golf."

Eddie's index finger shot up toward him in time instead of the middle one. „You know what, Trashmouth?"

„Oh, don't let me distract you, Ed", Richie straightened his glasses, nonchalant. Ass-dipping snake. "You go on, you can do it. You gotta believe in yourself because we all believe in you. Including the creepy-ass monkey there, look."

The aforementioned clown somewhat confirmed that, bouncing up and down on his haunches, eyes wide in excitement. „Do another one! Eds, do another!"

Eddie blinked in disbelief, watching Pennywise as wheeled around and plucked up the original cone between his fingertips. Playing the impromptu-if-not-unconvincing caddy, the creature pitched it back, underhanded, with a lopsided grin. The cone tumbled over with enough force that Eddie stumbled in a clumsy attempt to catch it onehanded (that he somehow managed).

Georgie was convulsing with repressed giggles by now, and Bill had a smug grin on his face. The drink in her hand was of full interest to Beverly who had reason enough not to get roped into this individual molesting. Richie, meanwhile, looked like just won the casino jackpot, and that infernal clown chiming over there was behaving like a baby (then again, when did he not?).

All this made Eddie spread his arms and look up. „When did I lose control?"

„Are you a coward, Eddie?"

His arms dropped to his sides, matching the renewing frown creasing his face. „Seriously cut the crap, Tozier."

„Or what, you're gonna miss me?"

„Your gun might be missing the specific hole for the rest of your life after I'm done with you."

„Seriously, you're that stubborn?" Now Richie looked dumbfounded.

„I'm not stubborn, you're being a pain."

„Then shoot the effing cone, Eds", Richie pointed a declaring finger in the general direction of the hole, pertinacious eyes not leaving his friend.

Eddie settled his jaw and squinted, knowing he looked about as intimidating as a hamster, but he surely felt like it when an idea suddenly struck him. He weighed the cone experimentally in the palm of his hand. This one was actually bigger and heavier than the others, possibly too heavy to pass for a stand-in golf ball. But instead of turning back and setting it on the ground, Eddie braced his feet further apart, adopting a new stance. The erratic chiming stopped, signifying Pennywise settling down as he probably sensed what was going to happen.

Eddie tossed the cone up and down, throwing Richie a shrewd look and successfully wiping that idiotic smirk off his friend's face. But before he could utter anything, or take action, Eddie catapulted the cone higher in the air, gripped one end of the stick with both hands fiercely, and at a proper moment, twisted and swung.

With a sharp crack, the cone rocketed back toward the house with elegant precision, spinning around the center, and brilliantly collided with Richie's forehead. The result was satisfying to say the least. Tozier's head jutted backwards and in a second his legs were where his head had been, and his throat gave a not-loud, but shocked _'ugh!'_ His body collapsed against with the porch boards with a blunt, final thud.

Pennywise was first, and had an immediate reaction. He pointed a finger in Riche's direction and lit into hysterical laughter, pulling little Georgie with him and after a short while, Bill and Beverly were helpless against joining in as well.

Eddie leaned the stick on his shoulder and placed a hand on his hip. ˮYou know what, Ding-Dong? Forget what I said", he said to the still-laughing clown. ˮGolf is for pussies. Real men do baseball."

The struck-down Richie straightened into a half-sitting position, looking disorientated and crack-brained with oversized glasses tilting funnily upon his nose. He breathed exaggeratedly, shook his head and grabbed the sore spot that was sure to leave a mark. ˮYou... you're insane."

„Likewise."

„No, I mean you're a real idiot." He checked his glasses, a glimmer of actual panic surfacing in his expression. ˮMom's gonna kill me if anything happens to these."

„Well, you could just have avoided it", Eddie broke out a smug smile. ˮMaybe you need the eye check."

„Fuck off, Eddie."

„Language!"

„Beep-beep, Richie", giggled Pennywise.


	2. Gazebo effect

It clearly wasn't going to be one of better days. Just approaching 29 Neibolt House carried an acidic, prickly feeling that spread under the Losers' skin and made the group pause simultaneously. The hesitation and caution they entered with, and the way Bill held Georgie back from bursting in like the boy would usually do, announcing his presence first, it wasn't because of fright. Sure, Pennywise was a jumpscare expert. That little adventure in the garage proved it; Bill all but wanted to smack the clown up the head for ruining their movie afternoon (provided a convenient chair to reach his intended target with).

But this was different.

Neibolt house was dusty as ever, with dingey stripes of light trying to crawl in through the overgrown windows like long thin fingers. There was no sun to be seen in the sky, and clouds obscuring it were growing darker. The rain was sure to come. Georgie and Bill, who entered first, noted the consistent squeaks and cracks house was typically producing and hoped to catch a sound out of place to register the clown's position, but it never happened.

Pennywise was as unpredictable as he was childish.

Mike and Beverly followed close behind, then Richie, and finally Stan. All moved uncharacteristically slow because if possible, the unpleasant feeling grew upon crossing the foyer.

„Penny?" Georgie tried, trying to release Bill's grip around him, unsuccessfully. "Where are you? Don't be scared, it's just us."

„I don't think he's scared, squirt, I think he wants us to be," Richie (knowing or not) cut Billy off, keeping his voice close to whisper so he, too, could catch any audible oddities.

„I thought we had a deal the last one was his final act," Mike recalled last time vividly when the fiery-haired clown literally dropped through the intact ceiling like a ghost and scared the shit out of Richie. The Tozier boy never went in first again.

The leader of the Losers shook his head. "Y-y-you can't really believe he'll stick to that."

„I wouldn't say it's a scaring attempt at all," said Beverly, looking around. "I mean, have you guys ever felt this before?"

She was right. Since their frequent visits had first begun, there was a bubble of indescribable energy around the coming-apart building that separated the air in the house from the air outside. No one could really specify how that could be or what it was meant to do, but every Loser acknowledged the fact. This was nothing like the usual atmosphere. It was something completely new and the Losers weren't sure if it was Pennywise's new attempt at a prank, or something more sinister.

„What if something happened to him?" Stan said, as out-of-nowhere as their host's sense of humor. And it was all the trigger needed for Georgie to wriggle free from his brother's unguarded grasp and dash for the stairs, calling for his newest friend.

Bill sighed exasperatedly, forcing his feet after the smallest member of the club, muttering a 'well done, Stan' along the way.

Any other time it would be funny how, on their feet, the noises of the house would seem to increase threefold. Stan had to pause halfway up the stairs, hand on the wall, suddenly frightened by the thought of falling through the fragile wood. The stairwell's groaning was most unnerving.

Georgie's sense of navigation was obviously right — as they climbed up, the pressure in the air turned more intense, thickening, scattering goosebumps across their skin.

„Penny?" Georgie was too small to be this bold, as he stepped up to one of the doors in the second-floor Neibolt maze and hesitated slightly, hand hovering over the doorknob. He looked imploringly back at Bill, who inched closer, just in case.

The room was completely wrapped in darkness, obviously windowless and Georgie had every right to pause on the threshold.

„Penny...?" Georgie called softly. There was a shuffling sound from somewhere deep in the room, followed by a wounded sound torn between a scratchy growl and a groan. Bill grabbed his brother's wrist, acting on instinct, when two orbs of fire opened on the far right - completely opposite from the direction the noise seemed to emit from.

„Holy shit, someone turn on the lights," Richie muttered, reaching at once into his backpack.

„Pen, are you okay?" Georgie stepped in Pennywise's general direction, not having to make much effort to slip out of Bill's grip, moving slowly to let his eyes adjust to the dead darkness and reach his friend. The natural hallway light was weak, and offered only a palette of indistinguishable shadows signifying where the clown was.

As it turned out, he was lying on a ragged, dusty mattress, incessantly tossing, pawing at his head, and whimpering quietly. In no way did he acknowledge Georgie as the boy timidly approached him, but he hissed suddenly, displaying rows of needle teeth when Richie pointed the flashlight in the creature's direction, burying his head into his folded arms.

„You're hurting him, turn it off!" Georgie snapped at Richie, minding not to yell. The clown was in obvious pain.

„What's wrong with him?" Beverly didn't quite bring herself to approach them, but crouched halfway in, observing as Pennywise groaned in agony and turned over so that his back faced the door, panting harshly in tight, pained gasps. Richie didn't turn the light off, but minded to point it in opposite corner. Georgie knelt at the mattress' edge, trying to clumsily wrap his arms around the restless entity.

„Penny? Please, what's wrong with you? Are you hurt?" Georgie pleaded in a tiny voice that usually, and unexceptionally, compelled the clown into doing whatever the hell the little kid wanted. Not this time. "Where does it hurt?" 

Standing back at (what he _really_ hoped was) a safe distance, Mike observed the human-eater's body language and the way he growled deeply in Georgie's direction when the boy tried to move even closer. That dangerous orange glow in his eyes was a reminder enough to be taken seriously, never mind the maw of fangs on display.

„Damn, he's really pissed," Mike remarked, watching the clown pull his head out of Georgie's not-too-firm embrace, curling up behind his entwined arms, shoulders trembling. "Something's definitely wrong with him."

For several long minutes, nobody knew what to do or dared to approach the alien being, and Georgie got no response to his pleading questions. They were only a sad collection of minutes filled with nothing but desperation and pained groaning and whining and nobody knowing what to do to ease their friend's suffering.

Flashlight in hand, Richie had half mind to suggest they should all just go and come back next day. He drew a breath to speak.

Until new sounds echoed from downstairs and Pennywise stilled for a moment, eyes turning to the door, pupils constricted.

„Guys?" A distinctively-light voice resonating in high octave sounded off from somewhere below them. Unmistakable.

„We're up here, Eddie!" Stanley yelled back, unthinkingly, and cringed in sympathy at drawing a whimper of pain out of Pennywise.

Eddie was as taken aback by the sight before him as anyone would've been. "Did somebody die?"

„Ask him," Richie pointed at the corner with his free hand. „He's the one who's acting like he's on death's doorstep."

„No, he's not, don't say that!" Georgie grabbed at one of the clown's giant arms, shooting the older boy a poisonous glare.

Eddie stood there, staring, and it took him a total of two seconds to pick apart the situation. He rolled his eyes and dropped the backpack on the floor with a _thump_ , making the clown flinch and hiss. "You're all idiots.

He's got a migraine."

„What?"

„I'll just assume you know what a migraine is, Richie," Eddie shot him a look from where he was kneeling, fiddling around his fannypack. "The weather is changing today, and the pressure is increasing before a storm. It's always like that when a downpour is coming after so many dry weeks. Some people react to it, some don't."

„Wait- what are you doing?" Mike looked over at the familiar sound of plastic rattling, and so did Pennywise.

„Mom counts pills," Eddie explained, turning a little orange box over in his hand, face adopting a light shade of pink. "I had a migraine, too, earlier, and had to take two today, and since the first one worked right away..." He popped the lid open. "In our best case scenario, Ding-Dong will be back to his old self in ten minutes, and I won't have to think up excuses for not taking the second."

Best case scenario turned out to be a long shot.

Only quick reflexes saved Eddie from losing his hand as Pennywise snapped at it, teeth clapping shut unnervingly close to the boy's fingers with a growl. Eddie jumped back at this sudden outburst, a stranded yelp escaping his throat that sounded like it was trying to be stopped a second too late.

The moment he did, Pennywise was back to not knowing what to do with himself. He collapsed in a sprawl upon the mattress, hiding his head in the safety of his arms with Georgie diving into more futile efforts to comfort him.

„Yeesh. Sorry for trying to help," the germaphobe stuttered after the initial shock, rubbing his hand impulsively even when it had sustained no damage.

„See? Even _he_ thinks they're BS."

„Shut up, Richie."

Eddie decided it was best not to prod the irritated clown anymore.

Beverly, who sat a cross-legged position, chin supported by her fists, considered the sight before her. She looked up at Bill after a minute. "What if Georgie tried?"

Bill would've walked through fire for Georgie, not to mention risking his hand instead of his brother's, but despite a flicker of consideration in his eyes, before he could utter anything, Georgie had already snatched the pill from Eddie's hand.

The unspoken truth was, Georgie was Pennywise's favorite, so it was no wonder when he was whined at and turned away from instead of getting his fingers chomped off, which Eddie followed with folding his arms firmly over his chest in frustration. Throwing the pill along the way would've made a better use of it.

„It's not working!" Now it was Georgie's turn to whine and he looked up at his brother helplessly. "Bill, what do we do?"

Bill had every reason to think objectively, both as a leader and as a witness of Pennywise's eyes varying from blue to orange and back, looking like he was on the verge of fainting, to come to most logical and most sensible conclusion. "I think we should all go and j-j-just let him rest," Bill said quietly. "It-it's bad enough to have a killer pain in the head, h-h-he doesn't need another one in the rear."

„Tell me you just called yourself a pain in the ass," Richie grinned.

„Go where? I just got here."

The Losers turned their heads toward the only remaining Loser that nobody had heard coming and who was currently occupying the entrance, casting a shadow that allowed Pennywise to open an eye in greeting and give an exaggerated moan. Ben's eyes poured through the same river of questions Eddie's had, though he seemed to mutely assess the situation before asking.

„What the hell is that?" Stanley inquired, eyes locked on the rectangular aged shape Ben carried in one hand. When Mike reached for Richie's abandoned flashlight, resting pointed upwards supported by two backpacks, the beam of light revealed two giant speakers, dozens of buttons and a folded, telescoping antenna.

„A boombox?" Despite Mike's disbelief, he still whisper-shouted. "What the hell are you doing with that?"

„We agreed to bring him music," Ben shrugged like he didn't just walk miles to 29 Neibolt house with a giant radio on his shoulder like some high school dropout who's trying to be a rapper. He settled it gently on the floor, and then saw the state of misery the clown kept displaying. "What's wrong with him?"

„Eddie thinks the clown's got a migraine," Richie's sarcasm was like a tiny drop that made a massive sound when hitting water surface in a giant cave.

„I know migraine behavior when I see it," Eddie reiterated.

„We tried a pill, but he wouldn't have it," Georgie explained, opening the pill-gripping palm for emphasis.

Ben turned a deadpan face toward Eddie, who all but flinched like his hand was in danger of being ripped out again. "A pill? You're giving a space-dwelling demon a _pill?_ "

„Hey, it works for me every time, why wouldn't it work on him?" Eddie shrugged, palms upward.

The new kid shook his head, getting a hold of his backpack. "Dude, I don't think entities do pills. I think pills are great things to rely on, but sometimes, a man alone must be enough to help himself." He pulled out a cassette and inserted it carefully in the boombox.

„And sometimes just music will do."

His statement was immediately validated; as soon as the first soft notes filled the air, and Ben turned the volume up a tad to make the notes distinguishable, the whining had stopped. The clown calmed down, laying on his side and even though he still looked in pain, he no longer made noises. Instead, his exhausted eyes shifted left and right, and he listened, breathing equal and calm.

Ben crawled over without a shade of insecurity and knelt next to Georgie, behind Pennywise. He reached out and ran a hand over the fiery, messy mop of hair, slowly brushing it backward.

The reaction was immediate. Pennywise's eyes rolled up and into the back of his skull. At Ben's second stroke, a string of drool escaped his ruby lips. After the third, he shivered from head to toe, making the suit's bells jingle.

„Oh, yeah, look at him," Mike grinned after Ben brought both curled hands to bear, and started massaging the clown's scalp. "He's in paradise."

„Bliss," Richie agreed, watching with amusement. Pennywise all but purred in contentment, mouth stretching into a bucktoothed smile and his eyes still rotated backward, looking like a desert botany following a rich rainfall.

Georgie remembered in the last moment not to squeal as he quietly clapped his hands in joy. "He's all good! How did you do that?"

„Magic. No, just kidding," Ben added quickly at Georgie's look of disbelief. "I read this book a while ago, something about mind healing. And there was this chapter about a headache, and how it's all something we made up to sell drugs and make more money. So they offered a couple of no money-required alternative solutions and I guess I just kinda... mixed the two of them."

Ben's eyes landed on Beverly who chuckled, a dazzling smile embracing her face and blue eyes radiating brilliance in a way that made Ben's motoric skills fail and he almost stopped his handwork, but Pennywise's unearthly grumble of pleasure shook the floor and snapped the boy back to reality.

„That is really awesome, Ben," Beverly said.

Ben could only smile crookedly, words betraying him in her presence, not for the first time.

Until the Trashmouth had to cough into his fist, with 'get-a-room' spluttered somewhere in there. Eddie reflexively smacked him up the back of the head, looking like he'd been waiting to do that for the whole day.

Several calm minutes later all were finally relaxed, leaning against the bedroom walls, laying around the floor or quietly playing games while Marvin Gaye kept extinguishing the last fragments of nasty, prickly air that were left, like virtual healing notes were being emitted through the speakers. Ben's hands never stopped for a second, and he didn't leave a single spot in that brilliant orange hair unscratched.

„I swear, if you don't become a kinesiotherapist when you grow up, I'll convert to Christianity," said Stan, reclining with his head against the wall, eyes closed in enjoyment.

„Watch out, I might hold you to your word," Ben smirked. "And don't let your Dad hear you. He'll lock you in your room and make you learn the Torah by heart."

The curly-haired boy scoffed humorlessly, eyes still closed. "Like that's not what he wants."

„Ewwww, Penny, you're doing it again!" Georgie cried, startling several Losers. Pennywise, in a complete trance, had shifted his head into the boy's lap, and now stains of drool were coating the boy's dark pants and leaking down on the mattress. In all honesty, it wasn't the first time this happened.

„Well, that's gonna take some explaining at home," Richie concluded.

The final groan reverberating off the walls that day was Bill's.


	3. Scrabble

„Oh, oh— _I'm getting a good one!_ ", the Renaissance-clad being nearly bounced in place with excitement while delicately picking up a small tile between his long fingers and setting it on the board with a heed so exaggerated that Eddie had to roll his eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

„You're as stupid as you're tall", the small boy snorted when the word was finally revealed and pointed his palm at the board they were sitting cross-legged around. „Sugar is not spelled S-H-U-G-A-R."

„Well, MAybe yOu arE miSTAkEn", the clown's cracking backfire was in a childishly mocking manner.

„Not so 'wise', are you, buddy?" Richie countered, while Eddie threw the clown three times taller than him across the board a dirty look, and grinned. „Everybody knows sugar is spelled with two G-s."

„I'm starting to think we have more idiots here than I'd previously thought when I met you guys", said Beverly, leaning her face against her fist.

Georgie found all this blissfully funny as he convulsed next to Pennywise who had to extend one of his enormous hands to catch him from falling backwards on Neibolt's dusty floor and gently shove him back up. If Bill were here he wouldn't have been satisfied with what the content of Georgie's shirt and hair might've looked like. Pennywise didn't mind the dust, but something about morality made the kids do, so he didn't protest when they started to occasionally tidy the big house bit by bit. It was a long way from how a normal house would look like, but it didn't seem to be what the kids were aiming to. They respected his property.

At least on that area.

„This is bullshit!" Richie's frustration finally climaxed. „There are tons of better and more useful things we could be doing right now besides Scrabble. What are we, old men with tiny pensions? If anyone busted on the scene, he'd drop dead laughing."

„It's this or we're playing _Twister_ again", Beverly didn't move from her current position.

„I'm not doing _Twister_ with _Forehead!_ " Richie threw an accusative finger in the extraterrestrial's direction who sniggered at the boy, shaking his head and providing them with his distinctive sound of bells that Georgie adored. „He's cheating!"

„No one's stopping you from just walking out the door", Eddie sardonically gestured towards the door. Richie grumbled, but crossed his arms and didn't move. He wasn't wrong. There was only so much to do while waiting for Bill who went out to meet Stanley and Mike so they could all go down to the Barrens together. Which should've happened hours ago.

„Where are those guys?" Richie lowered his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. „I'll start growing carrots all over my body by the time they're back."

„Do you think something happened?" Georgie's sweet voice came surprisingly quiet after the kids' former bickering, but when Beverly looked over, he didn't seem too worried.

„Nah, kid. They're probably just picking up some things along the way to bring over", she was quick to console him. „They'll come quickly."

Ben would've been here to lighten things up since he would always bring something to do where all could enjoy participating, but that provider was miles to the north now, visiting his cousins in Canada. Georgie pleaded him to bring back a box of snow, even when it was the middle of October, but the little boy was convinced that snow that far up north comes earlier and melts later. While leaving the doorstep of 29 Neibolt after saying goodbyes, Ben never looked so helpless.

„Look! Look, Richie!" Pennywise's arm shot out towards the middle of the game board, snapping them all back. „I found anOTHer one."

Cutting _SHUGAR_ vertically on its end was a perfectly lined _CARROTHEAD_ , resting there like an innocently delivered non-physical punch in the face. Once Richie's eyes turned wide as plates and face as red as a beetroot, Pennywise swept the silence aside with his maniacal laughter that instantly drew out Georgie's as well. Eddie snorted and managed to clamp a hand over his mouth in time to stop anything else from slipping out.

„He has big eyes, anyway", the cosmic entity giggle-whispered to Georgie, but was heard clearly by everyone nonetheless as he and the youngest club member engaged into a poke war, the scattered word tiles remaining completely forgotten.

„I'd watch how I call him next time. He's got all means to use it against you", Beverly said to Richie over the sound of her two friends' laughter.

„Well, looks like we only have one idiot after a— ow!", Eddie suffered the unfortunate fate of getting his nose squeezed in between Richie's merciless thumb and index finger as the latter seethed through gritted teeth. „Shut the _fuck_ up, Eddie."


	4. Christmas special

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An entry from December 2017.

„Are you sure your dad won't figure out you nicked these out of his wallet?" Stanley briefly eyed Bill's backpack as they shuffled among the shelves crowded with ornaments. Bill tried to suppress a massive urge to bring a pile of gazillion interesting things to the counter, rent a truck and take it all home since he couldn't exactly screw his eyes shut and make Stan walk him through the store. This wasn't about him, he reminded himself firmly.

„Will you sh-sh-shut up already?" the truth was, he was probably more nervous than Stan, which made the cursed stutter exacerbate. "I-i-i-if we're going to do this, w-we'll need every single buck."

„Yes, but I didn't need to rob my dad for that."

„You can flutter your eyelashes at your m-m-mom and she'd give you anything."

The curly-haired boy frowned deeply as they paused in front of the rows of colorfully dotted Christmas lights, bundled up into small flickering galaxies that nearly made the boys copy their giant friend's habit of drooling. Bill had to gulp when his eyes settled on the price, feeling an electrifying tremble capturing his fingers so he had to flex them a few times to calm down. He let out a shaky sigh. "It's-it's going to be fine. We'll pull this through, we just need to be calculating and careful on every step", the older Denbrough let out a weak laugh, trying to ease the strained bubble that incarcerated the two boys like a dome, leaving them isolated from the rest of the store, even as it was crowded.

Stan looked at his friend firmly, resolution and wariness taking refuge on his youthful face. He already left Hanuka behind before Bill decided to come up to him for help. However, hearing him out made Stanley wish he'd stuck to his own holiday.

„I really, really hope you know what you're doing."

  
  


Such is the nature of a man, to be the most obvious when he's expected to lay low and be inconspicuous. A particular situation which Mike was currently demonstrating. Positioned on what he supposed was a stable ground, the boy was kneeling on the front roof outside the top floor round window of the 29 Neibolt and was pounding nails in the dark wood rhythmically – just a few more feet and his job was done. This itself would've caused unnecessary attraction, but the Hanlon boy decided to spice up the chances by singing at the top of his lungs.

Mike didn't mention it, especially to his grandfather, but every note that so rarely left his lungs was a scarce commodity he could enjoy only on brief occasions, and damn it all if he fell through the fragile roof tiles or if Bowers decided to roll up the driveway and shoot him, nothing will take this moment away from him.

„You're singing it wrong", a voice slid into one of his pauses and brought his attention up. Or better say down. A familiar ginger head hidden beneath a dome of white woolen hat stood in front of the fence with two bags full of materials in each hand, flashing him a goofy grin. "Isn't that _'You're The One That I Want'_ from _Grease_?"

„Yeah?" 

„Then why are you yodeling gibberish?"

Mike grinned back down at Beverly. „Now there's a statute for singing the right lyrics? I'm sorry, I didn't know. What's the next step in crushing people's liberty?"

„ _If the freedom of singing is taken away, then dumb and silent we may be led..._ " Beverly's voice broke into an overly dramatic tone as she moved toward the house. "Gee up, Travolta, I don't think that roof's gonna last any longer."

„The others are inside", Mike let her know in return as she disappeared from his line of sight, feeling even better than when he'd first come over. He blew into his hands to warm them up, rubbed them together and resumed hammering in the Christmas lights, this time giving in to using the correct lyrics.

  
  


„Is the siren still wailing?" Richie did not spare Beverly a glance from where he stood on the short ladder duct taping the white cotton wool fluffs on the fireplace as the girl walked in.

„Yeah. And it doesn't seem like it'll lose battery anytime soon", the only girl in the club confirmed with a nod.

„I swear, if he keeps it up Pennywise might actually hear him regardless how far Georgie may have lured him out", Eddie complained out aloud, treating the fir branch like it's a rat snout ready to snap at his fingers. "He's not stupid, you know. He's gonna find out sooner or later."

„Well, you better hope it's later" Stan said, nearly incomprehensible for having his teeth hooked around another string of lights that went circling around the pine tree, arms busy entirely with accurate arrangement and precise positioning. His focus didn't die, even as he threw a sharp remark in Eddie's direction that the latter ''stuffed too many ornaments in one place''.

„Whose idea was it, anyway?" Richie speculated grumpily, tearing apart the tape with a loud rip. "Why are we doing this for the guy? What did that clown ever did for us except being a pain in the ass? And why the hell did I agree on this?"

„Are you serious?" Beverly sounded disgusted.

„Yes. Yes, I am", Richie finally spared some time to look over. „Seriously, what's the point? We'll all be spending Christmas Eve with our families, anyway. We won't see each other properly only day after Christmas, if even then. And once we're finally back here, we'll have to remove all of this, so you can see where I'm going."

„Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one second?", Beverly almost spat, sudden outburst of authority palpable in her voice, so much that Eddie flinched and shrank away a little even as he took no part in this argument. "This isn't about us or you, Richie. It's about how much you're prepared to do for your friends. Yes, you're right, Christmas is about family — all of it. It's the time to be separated for everyone. And if you tried dimming your egomaniacal self a little you'd know what I'm talking about."

„Alright, let's say I agree with you — what's in it for me?" Richie retorted and threw the tape over his shoulder. It connivingly landed on the fireplace mantle, divesting anyone from noticing the coincidental score in an inappropriate moment. Beverly didn't even blink.

„If everything goes according to plan, the look on Pennywise's face."

Richie didn't roll his eyes as she'd expected him to, but didn't say anything else, either.

The awkward silence that would've stretched was interrupted when Bill and Ben walked into the room, looking serenely satisfied — „Generator's all set" — until tension wrapped them into its arms and they looked back and forth between the other club members. Eddie and Stan cleared their throats and proceeded their business with the attention that seemed too forced.

„What's the deal here?" Ben inquired, watching as Beverly dodged every eye in the room and went pulling ornaments out of the bags. "Is it Mike? Should I go shut him up? The whole Derry might think it's an undercover party invitation", the boy felt a pinch of pride and satisfaction when he saw Beverly's lips twitch upward.

„I don't think you could if you tried" Stan scoffed, quilling the colorful string around a tricky branch and then abruptly reaching for topic change. "How long do you reckon the generator will last?"

Ben shrugged. "A few days?"

„Last until New year?"

„Probably."

„Good, because I don't wanna spend ten seconds unwinding what I've been _very patiently_ entangling for hours after three days."

„Remind me how you agreed to all this", Richie sighed at Bill, getting his hands on the tape and wool again.

Bill looked at him with a steel glow in his eyes like he had absolute control of the situation. „You try saying n-no to Georgie."

„...Point taken."

  
  


„ _Please, Billy, can't we do something?"_

_„I'm sorry G-G-Georgie."_

_„But he'll be so lonely. And nobody should be alone for Christmas."_

_Bill sighed for the millionth time since this argument set about, and he felt like he was going to have to decide whether to struggle with a very delicate Christmas card for Beverly, or his little brother's suggestion (insanely infeasible piece of stuntwork!) referring to their newest ridiculously tall friend. Because doing both would indubitably leave him braindamaged. So he lay his pencil aside and turned to a younger, dark-eyed copy of himself. "Look, even if I wanted to, and I d-do, h-how on Earth are we supposed to do this? A fir and Christmas ornaments don't just f-f-fall from the sky, Georgie. On condition that all eight of us agree to this in-in the first place, it would take us days to set things up p-p-properly. And who says that Pennywise will even agree to it? It's his house."_

_„Pennywise won't know", Georgie's determination was often more dangerous than it was adorable. "We'll keep him away from the well-house. He's never in there if we aren't, anyway. We just have to keep him occupied around the sewers or in the Barrens, or at the lake—"_

_„Georgie I'm all up for it, b-b-but you make it sound easy. You're not seeing the bigger picture here. Your idea requires a c-c-carefully weaved plan, stealth, full teamwork and a lot of dibs. What you're asking is nearly impossible. I-I-I mean, I, too, wish money grows on trees, but that-that's not how it works."_

_Georgie looked at him for several long moments, face turning neither grave nor angry, and Bill felt for a split second that he got around the itchy bellicosity that radiated from Georgie for days once he started pouting, and that the fumes would settle once the seven-year-old saw reason. Georgie did see reason, but in his own way; he wordlessly walked over to his nightstand and pulled at the second-to-the-top drawer, making Bill slap himself inwardly for celebrating too early. The dark-eyed boy came back to him where he was sitting on the bed after a bit of shuffling. In his hands he held a small piggy bank. It was his excuse for 'responsibility', as he often tended to boast about 'saving money just like an adult', while the content of the said pink porcelain safe was, in fact, enough money for a cheap popsicle._

_Nevertheless, math and logic, two sisters in crime, didn't do anything to wipe the determination off Georgie's face._

_„I'll take that 'nearly'", said the boy, fearless in the face of truth. „It can mean giving a lot and getting nothing, but I'll give it a shot. I'd do it for Penny. He's my friend — he was always there for us. And we owe him; all of us. We can make this work, Billy. I believe it, and so should you", his impossible eyes glimmered in the dim light. "I know sometimes it gets hard... but money shouldn't be an obstacle to friendship."_

_Bill wanted to cry._

  
  


Pennywise was tricky to figure out, and the fact that he wasn't a human being wasn't helpful. Even though he behaved like a big overgrown baby a great deal of the time, he wasn't stupid. Those three days prior to Christmas were a living hell for the Losers. They were a group of pre-high school kids having to trick the billions of years old cosmic being on daily basis. Pennywise's personality aside, the clown could be lurking practically everywhere at the same time, so it was necessary for him to be occupied by at least one Loser while the rest were in the 29 Neibolt, arranging the house in Christmas spirit without Pennywise's consent or knowledge. It quickly became apparent, to both parties, that ever since he first met Georgie on a heavy rainy day near the storm drain, Pennywise hated being alone. And the fact that his boredom caused him to pop up in their bedrooms or outside school window didn't make the situation simpler for the Losers.

In order to avoid suspicion, the kids took turns to sticking to Pennywise for the day, ensuring he stayed where he was supposed to, whether it meant staying with him in the freezing sewers or taking him out to the Barrens to watch him slip and wave his ridiculously long limbs to keep balance on the icy surface. It was a cruel thing, but one Richie didn't regret laughing at, even as the poor giant thing ended up crouching on the opposite end, whining and pleading at the boy to help him cross. It was even more convenient when the day before Christmas Eve, the Denbrough brothers were home alone, and had no problem spending the entire day with the clown who marveled at all the attention he was getting for the past few days.

One particular situation, however, was a very close call. It was the accursed Christmas Eve morning where Ben and Beverly brought some thick fur blankets for Pennywise to warm up because obviously, his towering pile of toys didn't have anything as useful. It wasn't all the same to the clown who was constantly surrounded with water and metal, and climate changes _did_ affect him unlike anything else, so winter was essentially the toughest time of the year to pull through. Nevertheless, that didn't stop him from trying his best to suppress violent shakes that ricocheted off his body and greet his two friends warmly.

After a boatload of futile attempts of trying to teach Pennywise how to dance and many frenzied laughs later from both Ben and Beverly, the pair sat on the sidecar's edge wrapped in one of the blankets, exchanging funny childhood stories. Beverly never felt such a genuine contentment and gaiety, not even when she met the Losers, and she felt that not even the biting cold like this could stop her from staying here forever.

The awkward pause that followed included a prolonged silent eye contact which was only interrupted by Beverly's haphazard quick scan of the cistern, and the lack of faded satin Victorian suit and ginger combusted hair, as well as uncharacteristic, eerie silence. Her limbs stiffened from adrenaline and she was on her feet in a second. "Where is he?"

The Losers knew of Pennywise's astounding ability to teleport, and at this instance, there was no scarier thing. The reason behind occupying him on daily basis was so his location was always known, and the worst thing that could happen was to lose him out of sight.

Which had to have happened at some point...

All previous coziness was instantly abandoned as both teens charged through the pipes, Ben barely remembered he had a walkie-talkie they all carried in case the situation 'heated up'. As Beverly kept calling for the clown, Ben had struggled to get the thing out of his backpack much longer than he should have, but by the time he did, he was already out of breath. If you asked him later to remember what he had yelled in the device, he couldn't tell you; the lightheadedness that kept him clutched was too frightening to think about at the moment.

It took them two minutes sprint to reach the front of the house, but by the time they did, everything seemed to have happened already. The Losers were scattered in front of the house. Richie had his face in one hand, and that itself was enough for Ben's heart to drop to his heels.

„Did he—"

„No, we bolted out in time, he was already in the yard", Eddie shook his head. "He was cold", the boy explained. "He wanted us to gather around the fire together like we did last week, but Stan got him. Microwave popcorn. That's all it took for them to vanish." The Kaspbrak boy looked absolutely exhausted, as did everyone else.

„We can't keep doing this any longer", Richie just verbalized what everybody was thinking, rubbing the balls of his hands under the glasses to try to extinguish the fatigue. "I seriously feel more stupid by the day, and this whole idea seems more and more pointless. I just wanna die."

Not even Beverly had strength or will to comment to that. Georgie looked crestfallen and sighed heavily. "Yeah, well, if anyone should be taking the blame, that's me. I'm the one who suggested this in the first place. If it wasn't for me, you guys wouldn't be doing this."

„Hey", Mike laid a hand on his shoulder. „This isn't about us. Nothing about this is your fault. This is all a test. It just shows how far we are prepared to go for our friend to have the best first Christmas ever", the farm boy looked around at each face in turn. „Tomorrow night, the show's on. And we'll make it unforgettable. And I swear to you, none of us will regret a single second of what we just did."

  
  


Pennywise whined, lips dipping into an over-exaggerated well-known frown. "Don't wanna wear thIS anYMoRE. Get it off, get it off!" The clown would have used his hands to rip off the blindfold if at least two losers weren't secured to each of his arms, leading him forward slowly like a real blind man. The Christmas evening was freezing and wet and the club was reminded just why reasonable people stayed inside as much as possible.

„None can do, buddy. J-j-just-just hang in there a bit longer, we're almost there."

„Where are we going?"

„Hell."

„What?"

„Richie's just messing with you, Penny", Georgie giggled, gripping at the alien's right wrist, trying not to stumble along with him. It was hilarious, as one wouldn't expect a cosmic entity billions of years of age to depend so much on one sense.

„Why aren't you blindfolded?" the clown tried again, comically raising his feet to avoid tripping over rocks. Stan, who favored logic above everything else, really saw no need for the blindfold since there was nothing to see just yet, but it was Georgie's suggestion, and the little bugger was the one who came up with all this, so it was all on him.

„Because you're the one who's in for a surprise", Richie told him, jerking him to the left to avoid rocketing into prickly bushes next to the fence. "You know? Think of it as a Jack-in-the-Box. You can associate with those easily, right?"

„Jack-in-the-Box?" the clown nearly stopped dead in place. "I'm- I'm getting a _Jack-in-the-box?!_ "

„Calm down, stop skipping! Watch your ste- ...goddamit, Pen."

„Leave him be", Mike grinned, rooting them all simultaneously to a stop so they could see the whole front of the house. „Okay. Well done, big guy, you made it. We're here. Are you ready?"

„Can I take it off now?" the monster moaned again as if suffering an unbearable agony and not the kids' mild attempt to reveal the big surprise.

„All yours." As Pennywise clawed at the annoying piece of black fabric to finally set his eyes free, Mike brought the walkie to his lips. "Alright, Ben. Light her up."

It was like dominoes. A carefully constructed symphony of delicate pieces whose demolition marks the sweetest success. Built upon hours of patience and time so it would make the finale even more spectacular. That was what the Losers felt when numerous little colorful lights on the front of the house flared to life. Smiles grew on all faces present and Mike mentally patted himself on the back for an outside job well done.

Pennywise exploded into a fit of exhilarated guffaws, jingling bouncing and clapping his hands in joy, looking like a child seeing the marvelous firework show for the first time. The grouchiness from when he was forced to rely on his friends blind was forgotten in the bat of an eyelash.

„YoU toOK STARrs froM THe skY!" the clown's words were a giggle, high pitched, cracking intonation and, before anyone could break the moment and correct him, he crossed the distance to the door in bouncing steps, no more than four of them with those long legs, and burst inside. The rest followed, laughing at this wacky play.

It was even more wonderful than the outside, considering that the Losers never saw the inside of the well-house at night, with more strings of lights stretching in the ceiling corners and over the fir that was nearly Pennywise's height. On and above the fireplace rested fluffs of snow and the furniture was ornated with Beverly's baubles. On the entrance to the other room, leaned to the doorframe was Ben with a smug smile, watching the clown in frenzy as he made gibberish noises at the gaudy tree.

„Yeah, slobber all over it, pal", Stan commented, folding his arms over his chest, smile dancing in the corner of his lips. "You cost us a bunch of nerves, time, excuses and money, you know... And fingers, almost. Somebody had to saw that tree, too."

The clown had reduced the theatrics to a precipitous _decrescendo_ as Stan's words and the absurdity of the situation finally settled and he stilled, turning his oversized head towards his friends. Ben had joined the formation, and It saw them all: all eight bodaciously irritating, reinvigoratingly ignorant and selfishly affable kids who understood It the most and yet knew a millionth inch of a minimum nothing of It. Pennywise felt a fluttering swell of affection gurgling inside his chest and constricting his heart and he whimpered at the feeling; despite the freezing cold, he never felt warmer this winter.

„You—you did this...for me?" it remained hanging in the air. Like a half-finished soap bubble floating undirected.

Eight nods.

The clown stayed silent, hooking the eccentric squad with blue eyes, plates of orange hue pulsating beneath them. He didn't move or blink; multicolored smears of light mixed a vivid blend of colors on the bulbous head. 'Why?' was unspoken, but very much there.

„We don't know if you ever celebrated Christmas before", said Georgie first, "But we wanted to make this special for you. You're our friend."

„Y-y-you know, even though our parents are going to kill us c-cause we stole their money, I have to say I agree", Bill joined it with a tired, but candid smile. "We owe you, and if this is the way to repay you, I don't regret a t-thing."

„You had it coming", Mike grinned.

In an instant, Georgie was clinging to Pennywise, wrapping his arms around his waist as far around as they could go, leaving him puzzled. After a second, Bill was next to his brother, copying his gesture, burying his face deep in the safety of the soft suit. Beverly, Ben, Eddie and Mike followed and, after a moment's hesitation, so did Richie and Stan, leaving Pennywise successfully surrounded from all sides. The clown had his arms trapped in numerous hugs, but even if he didn't, he wouldn't have known how to use them; his head had gone completely blank, and all he was left with was that cozy warmth that made his lips pull up into a smile.

„Tha-thank you", Pennywise managed, voice barely more than a whisper, but no more was needed.

„Merry Christmas, Penny", Georgie muttered into his solar plexus, unleashing another stronger wave of affection that shook Pennywise's body and made the bells jingle.

They shared another moment together until Eddie lifted his head from where he had it against the clown's hip when a movement outside the still open door caught his attention. His first instinct was to go stiff, but then his mouth fell open and the mild grip he had around his tall friend slackened. "Guys?"

All heads slowly rose upwards and turned towards the entrance.

„Is that... what I think it is?" Ben asked, already walking to the door.

True to Eddie's keen eye — outside again, our curious group of friends was met with silent thick pieces of white dancing through the chilly night air, becoming more maniacal by the minute. The black sky came to life with the storm of snowflakes twirling like a swarm of flies. The kids laughed, opened their mouth and palms to catch the first Derry snow as Christmas just turned indisputably better.

„We are so doing snowball war tomorrow", Richie breathed, squinting upwards, wanting to see the crazy dance.

„Yeah. And you're going down", Eddie flatly responded, adjusting his scarf.

„As if", Richie tapped the clown's back since he couldn't really reach his shoulder. "I have the big guy on my team."

„You're on. Tomorrow afternoon at the Barrens. Losers swim in the lake naked."

„Deal."

Pennywise already had Georgie up on his shoulders and they ran around chasing the falling projectiles. Within the following minutes, laughter was filling the air, and the group felt that the world could've succumbed to all natural and economic disasters and they wouldn't notice. Nothing and no one could spoil the time they had right then.

While pursuing Bill in the spirit of the game, Richie didn't try stopping the thought that Beverly was right all along. This wasn't about him. It was about his family. This ridiculous hopeless bunch of Losers, and he'd die for each of them without thinking twice. But he wouldn't admit that to no one in a million years.


	5. Horror night

Robbie bid his sister goodnight and climbed to bed, throwing away the truck in the toy box; an aim he could score with eyes closed by now. He reached over past Darth Vader's bust whose presence was ignored, but not negligible, as it kept him company since before he could remember. The boy turned off the light and immediately felt unease. Every corner of the room became darker, his sight not providing him fully and Carol Anne's presence suddenly didn't exist. Robbie turned around, feeling goosebumps pierce out of his skin. His eyes settled on a clown doll sitting on a chair before his bed. Like a patient parent waiting for him to fall asleep, but a parent who offered no comfort or a sense of safety at all.

The clown's hands faced upwards with long fingers at the ready to snatch, and limbs sprawled in an unnatural angle which made the thing look more sinister.

Robbie crawled and took his jacket from beside the bed, never taking his eyes off the unliving thing and that hideous, synthetic smile that made goosebumps spread over his limbs like a busy ant colony. He straightened the jacket and threw it forth, intending to cover the artificial grin. He wouldn't lay still, let alone close his eyes and fall asleep with a sense of being watched. His guts told him something was off.

The aim he threw the truck with didn't apply to throwing the jacket. It hit the clown's left shoulder, grazed its ginger hair and a chime on the top of its dotty moon-mottled hat and crumbled around the toy's leg. The movement caused one of long arms to fall down lose and swing like a piece of cloth. The bells chimed softly a bit more, making Robbie subdue a shudder and take a brief pause. He's not picking that up.

So he laid back and settled in, trying hard to erase the toy's presence from his mind and letting thoughts of the soft mattress and comfy pillow envelop his mind, taking him to the dream realm. Soft cricket noises eased the flow of sleep and relaxed his limbs.

It worked until soft scratching and shuffling yanked him out of the fragile REM phase. Robbie sat up and immediately locked his eyes at the clown.

The chair. In which the clown was supposed to be sitting. Empty.

Robbie's eyes widened in horror and he took to looking around the room, searching for the damn thing. It was like spiders. It's all good when you see them, but when you come back from finding the weapon and they're not there, that's a bigger problem.

Slowly, Robbie leaned over one side of the bed. Nothing. Bending over on the other side, he felt a force tugging him in both directions, how it was a terribly bad idea — that had to be done. His fingers gripped the covers that hung on the side of the bed hiding a sanctuary for monsters, and he prepared for the worst. But pulling them up revealed nothing there. Only dust.

Robbie let go of the covers, straightening and feeling panic rising again when—

Bill jumped with a stranded yelp, spilling the popcorn all over the sofa and floor when the clown grabbed the boy from behind and one of his long grotesque arms starting to wind around his neck. The moment would've surely hit him deeper had it not been for _another_ clown sitting behind him, caging him in with long legs supported up, who practically screamed like a little child, gathering Bill into his arms and trying his best to sink into the back of the couch. The older Denbrough brother rolled his eyes, fighting for popcorn to stay where they belonged. Or what was left of them.

„Will you s-s-stop that, you wuss?" Bill hissed at him. "Seriously, when I said I was gonna let you watch a s-s-scary movie with me I didn't think you'd be more scared than me."

„Not scared", Pennywise insisted after a moment, brow dropping into a characteristic frown. He slackened his grip, but didn't give Bill more space.

„If you wake G-G-Georgie up, you're putting him back to bed", Bill said, watching as the TV clown pulled Robbie under the bed and was doing who knows what, similar to what Pennywise would do with Georgie before bedtime, but that only included harmless tickle fights that wouldn't let Bill focus on finishing his homework.

It took him a couple of scenes before a thought hit him and he tiled his head up to see his friend's pale chin. "Wait—y-y-you were actually scared of another clown who isn't even real. You freaked out at a toy."

„I did not, I—"

„Struck by his own inanimate relatives. Boy, wait until R-Richie hears this", he stuffed his face with a fistful of popcorn, blue eyes back at the TV.

„Nooooo", Pennywise whined and Bill could _hear_ the frown in his voice. "No tell Richie, Richie is a bully. He'll make fun of me. Don't tell him. Don't tell!"

„Shhh!" Bill snapped as the poltergeist kept rampaging the house again. Pennywise moaned and grouched some more, but restrained from making more overblown loud noises on every jumpscare, not acknowledging how the popcorn provision nearly disappeared in Bill's stomach completely. Definitely no sleep for him tonight.

„Pen?"

„Yes?"

„C-c-c-can you let me go? I need to go to the bathroom."


	6. Trust issues (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following Chapter 3.

Stan still didn't trust It.

He assumed it was a part of his persona; the not trusting anyone. It took him a long while to adjust to Bill's exposure of sincerity, but Bill was patient and understanding enough to let Stan take his time to do so as well, for which the latter was indefinably grateful.

Or it was just a sheer impact of the family regime he opposed to more than he should have. In all honesty, the only duty Stan ever felt was following his father's orders, and almost never willingly, though it would always seem he was doing everything against his father's liking. Trying to pour all the responsibility over his head was too much for the teen at times, and he wasn't sure if he would've been able to go through it alone. Not after he met Bill. Not after he became one of the Losers.

Still, it didn't justify how he felt about their newest club member. The clown could sputter loyalty and trust like confetti all he wanted — while Stan was sure the rest of the group were more or less accommodated with the unearthly entity (didn't Richie try to teach it how to skate the other day?), he was just fine keeping a reasonable distance as much as he could.

He had no idea how others accepted it so quickly. A demonic clown? They _were_ losers, but were they really that desperate? Wasn't there _something_ suspicious about this whole situation? Stanley was always tense whenever they would come visiting as a group, and only came along so the others wouldn't think him a party-breaker. Seriously, if Georgie could waltz in 29 Neibolt like he owned the place, what did that make _him_? Ah, but Georgie was a completely different story now, wasn't he? One thing for sure, Stan will never lead himself into a situation where he would be left alone in the room with that creature.

The entity had never given him reason to trust it. Until the day it did.

  
  


„Medic!" was the first word blurted when a crash nearly brought down the old moist-bitten wooden door. "We need a table, now!"

Mike, who had one of Stan's arms over his shoulder and the other around the other boy's back supporting him up, mirroring Bill on Stan's other side, couldn't be sure what exactly it was that made the rest of the Losers and the giant clown bolt up from sitting in circle around the floor, but couldn't care less at this moment because A) Stan was heavy and B) He'd been carrying most of his weight for the last half a mile.

Stan was dropped on one of the couches with minimal gentleness involved and his cry of pain was lost in the storm of panic and raised voices as the group swarmed around the injured boy.

„What happened?" Beverly's voice managed to get to Mike, who grabbed one of Stan's legs and started unlacing his shoe.

„Everything _bad_ that could've happened", the boy snarled, looking in equal degree annoyed and frightened.

Eddie's eyes popped out of the sockets. "What? It- it isn't Bowers, is it? He saw you, right? He found you, he knows where we are and he's coming here—"

„It-it's not Bowers, Eddie", Bill interrupted briskly before Eddie's rant got out of control. He nodded at Beverly who wordlessly passed him a kitschy pillow which he carefully supported Stan's leg with. The poor boy groaned and tangled his hands together firmly; pain and exhaustion left smears of sweat break out on his face and around the shirt.

It was clear in Pennywise's barely visible hesitant twitching back and forth that he wanted to contribute to helping the child as much as he was scared to cause accidental turmoil. The atmosphere was prickly like the most uncomfortable feeling of static electricity you didn't know from which direction would zap, and it was making the clown nervous. So the latest club member settled to watch the situation unfold as Mike carefully started pulling off Stan's shoe as gently as possible. Richie's question was drowned in his grunts of pain and gritted teeth: "What is it then? He looks about ready for coffin."

„Shut your mouth before I sew them up", Stan managed to squeeze out while Mike rid him of his sock in quick precision.

„Holy shit", Eddie's voice shivered like a thin birch on the wind. The entire room fell in silence, and for a good reason. Stanley's foot was incomparable to a normal one; his ankle was swollen like someone stuck a foot pump in his heel and after a while forgot they were using it, but the damage was already done. Not just that — the damn pump must've had ink: the area around the ankle and heel started developing smudges of blue and purple. It would undoubtedly look worse.

„Damn right", Mike surveyed the swelling with glistening dark eyes. "I didn't think it was that bad."

„Doctor K? Diagnosis?" Richie inquired without a trace of humor in his voice.

„Complete ankle distortion, grade 3. Or maybe 2, I don't know, the bruises just started forming", Eddie's voice was flat like a horizon as the words left his mouth, eyes never leaving the hideous injury.

Stanley huffed, managing to lift his head just enough to see the state of his walking machine. "What the hell does that mean?"

„It means that you could've lost your ligaments, you idiot", the slim boy snapped out of the trance and unzipped his fannypack. "Seriously, what the frick have you been doing?"

„It wasn't my- _ow, shoot,_ don't move that damn pillow!" Stan bit back nasty swears for the sake of the kid. Georgie, who placed a comforting hand on Stan's chest, had no other means to help him than patting him in sympathy to ease his way through the pain. Sun was seeping through the windows, even as Georgie could see darkness gathering in the distance, indicating the arrival of the storm. It was a bizarre contrast, completely opaque, but if it was going to distract him from the horrid state of Stan's foot, then Georgie was willing to dedicate his whole attention to it.

__

Still, after a bit of gurgle among the crowd, and Pennywise's attempt to hook his hands under the Uris boy's pits to lift him into a more comfortable position, which the latter struggled against and protested at until the clown had to let him go, younger Denbrough asked: "Is there anything you can do to help him?"

__

The question was thrown at Eddie who was wrapping up his jabbing around the bag, completely frustrated he didn't have the only thing he needed at this moment. He puffed, irritated, like a ticking bomb trapped in a small body, and would've looked ridiculous if the situation wasn't dire. "Great, the only cream that would've actually worked and I left it at home."

__

„Cream? You're talking about cream? The guy needs a bucket of ice!" Richie once again made himself known as the loudest one in the room.

__

„Ice?" years of sarcasm withheld from his mother gathered directed at Trashmouth instead. "Grip your ears firmly and pull your head out of your ass, genius, there's no ice in this house. This place is an electricity-deprived wreck. The fridge is there in the kitchen just for the show. No offense, man", he added toward the frowning clown.

__

„None taken", Pennywise parroted what he had heard Bill reply to Richie when the spectacle-wearing boy had mentioned a stuttering issue unrelated to the older Denbrough, even though the clown felt more than slightly offended.

__

„Right. So if you'll excuse me, I'll go make myself useful and get the supplies. Oh, and I'll probably need an extra pair of hands."

__

„No, Eddie, s-s-stop!" Bill stopped his friend from where his hand already hung above the doorknob. Eddie froze in place like he suffered a treatment from Butch Bowers' taser gun. All eyes turned to Bill, who eyed Stan, and then Mike. Mild panic was visible in his rich dark eyes, and Stan went a shade paler.

__

„D-don't go out there on your own. W-w-we don't know if they're still out there", his voice, despite the increased stutter, shook audibly.

__

„Who?" Beverly looked between the three shaken boys in hopes to capture their gazes, but no one would look at her. „Bill, what's going on? Who's outside?"

__

„We come from the same direction, Stan and I", Mike spared Bill and the rest of Losers the annoying delay. „And Bill went out to meet us halfway. Long story short we had to take a piss-break and left the bikes a bit further behind. When we were coming to get them, we heard voices", the boy swallowed thickly. „It turns out two junkies ran into our bikes and, while we were away, sliced the tires with a pocket knife. They were looking for us: we could hear them calling us. We had no choice but to run, but they heard us and started a chase. We managed to lose them around the Barrens, but Stan's sprained his ankle and we had to help him walk here. You know the rest."

__

The silence that followed was interrupted only by Pennywise's silent dangerous growling. The giant clown's brow fell into a deep frown above glowing yellow eyes as he placed a gloved hand protectively over Georgie's that tightened on Stan's chest after he heard the whole story. Richie dropped his face into his palm and swore incomprehensibly and Beverly unconsciously grabbed Bill's hand.

__

„Did they see where you went?" panic in Eddie's voice was ready to erupt if Bill gave an affirmative answer, which he didn't. Sort of.

__

Bill shook his head. "I-I think we lost them. W-w-we didn't see anyone for the rest of the way."

__

„What do we do now?" Georgie cried, panic and worry mixing in his voice. He gripped the soft material of Pennywise's suit firmly, leaning into his chest as if craving protection right then and there.

__

„Y-you're doing nothing", Bill snapped automatically; his leader mind was already forming a plan. "We need to go get those bikes back. Richie, Mike and I will g-go get them. Eddie, you'll go get all the supplies you need for Stan. Beverly will help you. You'll take Georgie w-with you and get him home."

__

Beverly already nodded readily, but Eddie, Richie, and Georgie both took to complaining at the same time.

__

„I can't just barge home and start stuffing med supplies into my bag, can you imagine what my mom's gonna say?"

__

„Me?! Why do I gotta go back to the crime scene? Why doesn't Beverly go get your stupid bike?"

__

„I don't wanna go home! I wanna help them! Billy, please, please let me help!"

__

Mike managed to raise his voice before he or Bill sustained any serious nerve damage. "Everybody shut up! Bill's right, the quicker we are, the better. Stan needs help as soon as possible. Richie, you could try and stop being a wuss for a change, but I agree: you'll switch with Beverly — if Eddie has to go around his mom, you're the only one who can keep her distracted long enough. Try being quick, but don't take shortcuts."

__

Mike caught Bill's gaze, who nodded affirmatively once. His eyes reflected gratitude. After a bit more fussing, especially from Georgie who thought stomping his foot was going to change anything, the Losers agreed with the plan.

__

„If we want to be fast, we gotta move right now", Beverly jutted her chin towards the window. „One more racer is in the game."

__

The storm Georgie had noticed before was a lot closer now and didn't seem to redound to their plan. It hovered over menacingly, adding to the uncomfortable pressure between the kids. It didn't look like it would last long, but that usually meant it offered hell and nothing less.

__

„W-wait. Guys."

__

Stan, who sounded like he didn't have the right to vote all the time and was now finally given liberty to use vocal cords, looked shaken from where he lay on the couch, trying to be immobile, but the look in his eyes told them he would all but jump up and do anything but being still.

__

„You're all going? I-I mean..." he fell silent, words left hanging like a cruelly unanswered high-five. He didn't want to sound cowardly, but the fact that they all just agreed to leave him alone in the falling-apart house whilst previously encountering two hobo maniacs didn't leave him as passive as he'd usually be. "Nobody's staying?"

__

It was like a comedy scene, and the situation wasn't even funny. Far from that; for a moment nobody moved, but then all eyes looked up above Stan's head into a much taller and much, much worse idea and Stan was left inwardly facepalming for his own stupidity.

__

Their compromise-themed brawls often excluded perhaps the most salient club member; the one that currently hovered over the couch like a scarecrow in the golden field with the same protective purpose. The clown sensed attention and cocked his head to the side, eyes diverging comically in different directions, probably to make him look purposefully more ignorant than he essentially was.

__

„W-w-well..." Bill tried hard to stifle laughter that bubbled in his stutter.

__

Stan was already sitting up, pointing his finger at the club leader, eyes as wide as they could be. „No."

__

„You know what", Richie pondered tauntingly, "I'd say you're being left in good hands, but then I'd be lying."

__

„No. Stop. Stop right there. I didn't agree on this!" Stan's voice was rising, flat-out ignored by all the Losers.

__

„Look on the bright side, though", said Beverly, readying to leave. "There's your chance to establish a bit healthier bond."

„No, screw your bonds, I don't want to have _anything_ to do with this thing! Either it goes with you or—" 

__

„Don't worry, Stanley", Georgie was all cheery again as he put on his jacket. "Penny will keep you safe. Right, Pen?" 

__

If Stan was going to protest further, his voice was interrupted when Pennywise was instantly on the couch, pulling the boy into his lap protectively, drowning out any words that wanted to surface as his face was mushed with a gloved hand. „Oh, yes! Pennywise will keep Stanley safe. He will, Georgie, he will, he swears it!"

__

„No need to swear, they're already on their way to the third base here", Richie commented quietly and Beverly took all pleasure to give him a nice slap up the head.

__

„Pennywise is part of the family now, Stan, you're just gonna have to get used to it", the girl had said, ignoring the moan of misery from Stan who dived into futile attempts to claw a huge hand off his face which wouldn't budge.

__

„The most degraded family that ever lived", Eddie agreed, shaking his head at the sight and slapping Richie on the shoulder. „Come on, let's go. Georgie!"

__

Georgie was next to the struggling duo where Pennywise dipped down his head unobstructed so the little boy could take a hold of his face and pet his cheeks. „Be good to him, Penny. If you do, I'll let you help build _Jenga_ with me tomorrow", he added this with a conspiring whisper, and Pennywise nodded vigorously in excitement, further molesting the poor Jewish boy as the clown nuzzled the youngest Denbrough who giggled gleefully.

__

„No, please... Guys. Wait!" Stan tried weakly one more time as everyone was leaving the house, wanting to beat the storm.

__

Bill, as it always fit the leaders to go either on the far front or at the far back, smiled wickedly at his injured red-faced friend, hand on the doorknob. „D-don't worry, Stan. The only thing that can honestly kill you right now is boredom."

__

As he was leaving the porch, Bill finally succumbed to full-out belly laugh when he heard a berserk yell from inside showering meteors of rage. _„BIIIIIIILL!"_

__


	7. Trust issues (Part 2)

The bike trio was the faster group. Maybe because those individuals shared a similar amount of fearless, one that was tangible in silent air of dedication and resolve, visible in the unflagging rhythm of their run which didn't falter until they reached the bikes that were, thankfully and miraculously, still there. The tires were indeed sliced, long strokes made by sharp steel like a sickening reminder of what had happened, irreparable in their damage.

However, upon their arrival, the previous certitude was gone, replaced by quizzical shared glances between Bill, Mike, and Beverly. The question was unspoken; how and where to?

„Back to Neibolt is closer", Mike concluded.

„For you, you mean", Beverly bit her lip, grip tightening on the handles of Stanley's bike. The strengthening wind played with her ember tufts of hair, and she looked up. Nearing clouds already obscured the sun, throwing Derry into temporary darkness, adding a pinch of rolling _crescendo_ thunder.

Bill didn't think for long. The mocking merriment given to him by Stan's comical misery from before was already gone, and he was back to his old, calculating self. „H-he's right. H-how are you gonna explain Stan's or my mom that Stan isn't here but his bike is?"

Beverly wiggled her nose, but didn't comment. How would she know? Must be nice having a mom who worries.

Not that she was very anxious to go back home any time soon.

By the time they reached the bikes, Eddie's inhaler was already empty. As fast as they pedaled down the streets, it wasn't exhaustion that made his breath quicken, but an unexplained panic which he wasn't sure if it was coming from horrifyingly fast clouds or the paranoia that made him look behind every once in a while.

His usual rant was lost to the rumbling sky, and it almost looked unreal, all too fast in its wicked plan to flood Maine and wreck the day for anyone who was away from the cozy safety of inside. Eddie felt pressure tightening around his head like a too-small headband, and by the time they'd cycled to the Denbrough residence, he was getting dangerously dizzy, vastly thankful on a brief break when Georgie skipped over to the porch.

The little fledgling suddenly stopped, facing the two older boys swiftly. „Wait."

„What?"

Georgie stuck his tongue out a little; the thing he did when those little gears in his head were turning. „What if they ask where's Bill?"

Richie briefly glanced at Eddie, who didn't seem like he'd be of any help in a while, but while his lungs didn't form words, his eyes surely could; the _'don't say anything stupid, Trashmouth'_ was lingering permanently in Eddie's big brown eyes.

„Anything far from truth is always better, squirt", Richie summarized, for once fully satisfying Eddie's standards.

Georgie went to open his mouth again, but the front door opened before him, revealing neatly dressed Mrs. Denbrough. Her eyes settled on Georgie first, but she didn't look relieved, or angry, or even remotely surprised. Still, all in all, Eddie and Richie managed a decent hello.

„Where is Bill?" came instead of a greeting.

Eddie's mouth gathered into a thin line, as always when it came to lying, but Richie's mouth was already running: "Oh, we're all crashing at my place. Only Bill's not gonna be able to come so soon, because..."

Sort of.

However, the little duckling brought big guns and fired to the rescue. "He lost a bet and now he has to do a handstand against the wall for two hours", Georgie explained to his mother quickly. "I didn't want to wait that long, so I had Richie and Eddie escort me home before it rains. But don't worry — Stanley's making sure he doesn't cheat", he smiled broadly up at Mrs. Denbrough whose eyebrows were up to her hairline, and an exasperated sigh escaped her lips; probably a consequence of trying not to think of all stunts her sons and their friends were performing in all likelihood on a daily basis.

„Ugh. Just come on inside", she waved for Georgie and hooked her eyes with Richie's again, warning in them clearly present. "Make sure he comes home as soon as rain is over, no matter how many more minutes he had."

„Yes, Mrs. D, absolutely, Mrs. D", Richie shot his thumbs upwards, but they were directed at her back. However, Georgie, who was following her inside, turned around and winked with a grand cunning grin, thumbing him up back.

„You realize if his mom calls your mom that we are all screwed", said Eddie blankly with a resigned slump of his small shoulders after the door was shut.

„Yup", said Richie, still with a big burlesque grin.

A not so ignorable clap of thunder reminded them they had one more stop.

  
  


To anyone who didn't know him, Stan looked all normal. He was propped with his back against the armrest with a book in hands and tranquil eyes skipping across rows of words, but his friends wouldn't miss a gritted jaw and stiff back that indicated hidden tension gripping Stan's person like a fish clutched in talons of a condor. If he wasn't human, he'd probably be an hourglass, slowly, deliberately trickling out, every following grain of sand slower than the previous one, making the rest of his nerves steam out like agonizing whisks of smoke from burning copper. He tried not to focus on the injury or the fact that his ankle was swollen to the point of looking unnatural, with expanded bruises that made him wince in pain every time he moved it a bit.

Those steel-cold eyes shot upwards like a bullet, not a single word from the book comprehended in his brain. Not when respective blue eyes were staring from next to him, unblinking and uncomfortably large. Even as the pest had calmed by now and got off his back (barely), to Stan it seemed he couldn't escape it even from behind the book cover.

The look was unnerving in every sense; wide, askew and tenacious, giving no chance to concentrate, turning the schoolbook in his hands into a farce. This made Stan's nerves vibrate and he shut the book close, sound exploding in blank space. „What?"

His eyes locked with the creature's, trying to maintain the same air of intensity, but to no avail. The clown was either dumb or didn't care, which wasn't relatable. He gave his cutest bucktooth grin, a copy of his first encounter with little Georgie.

„What are you doing?" Penny's voice was in a sing-song fashion, almost sounding mocking.

„None of your business." Stan didn't think the thing was capable of asking rhetorical questions, but wasn't the eternity of staring at someone holding a book ( _trying to make themselves look busy!?_ ) enough to be answered itself?

But the anticipation in clown's eyes, as well as the obvious fact that he either won't give up or will ask again, compelled him to give in with a sigh. "Reading."

„What?"

„It's a history book."

„History of what?"

„General", came out a little distorted due to the boy's firmly gritted teeth.

„Can I read it too?"

„No, get lost."

Pennywise pulled a face from where he was crouching on the floor beside the couch among scattered Scrabble piles, impossible to not be seen as an overgrown baby. He won the medal by adding an obnoxiously unnecessary whine. " _But it's no fun. You're no fUN, StANLeY._ "

„Then go back to your damn sewers", snapped the injured boy.

„No", Pennywise shook his head and the cursed bells jingled, further freaking Stan out, then he grinned, utterly unsettling with those eyes going opposite directions. "Pennywise will keep Stanley safe. He- he _swore_ , Stanley-boy!"

Stan let out another embittered sigh, seeing himself trapped. Alright. If he couldn't handle it like with any other man (or a toddler), he'll play its game. The boy reached over and grabbed his backpack, feeling curious eyes bore into his shuffling, and then lit up when he pulled out the most colorful thing in the world.

„Alright. _This_ is the Rubik's cube. Solve it and you solved all the mysteries of the universe. But people just normally use it to kill time, so... good luck."

He would've laughed at excessive caution It took the six-square-faced object with and admired it with huge eyes and a growing grin if it was funny. He would've watched as It twisted and turned its sides and getting more and more frustrated by the complicity of the contrivance if it was worth it. That should keep It occupied for a while.

If by 'while', one considered Stan brought the book back up and after two holy seconds of peace felt a _tap-tap_ on his elbow.

He was prepared for a dumb question. Like _'How does it work?'_ or something primitive like _'help me'_. But instead, the Jewish boy was presented a color mix-up sorted into a neat equally-colored shape. Perfectly.

„ _What?!_ How'd you-"

„I fixed it!" Pennywise yapped happily, solved puzzle sitting on his huge palms like a museum exhibit, excitement practically glowing off him like a giant protuberance. „I made it better! So now you don't have to worry anymore!"

Stan stared for a total of half a minute, dumbstruck until his jaw began working in his repetitive attempt to conceal anger, but it was a losing battle.

„Do you think we could—"

„Stop. Shut up. Stop talking. You listen to me..." he shot his finger out at the clown who jolted back, but not because of the finger. Stan's bitter energy, which could've been felt all the time, but Pennywise gave his best to settle it down, now surged at him like a swarm of agitated hornets, and it made him drop the waggish puzzle that tumbled on the floor.

„I had a rough enough day", Stan began, voice low, but shaky. "I was assaulted, chased and nearly broke an ankle. Worse, the closest familiar residing place was this dump, and then I have to be stuck with you while the rest of the guys are surely having a hell of a better time, free from your sick shit. I'm tired and angry, and you're being a pain in the ass. So why don't you do us both a favor and get the hell out of my face, out of this house and back to the fucking sewers you clearly belong to and stay there until guys come back so I can go home and hopefully never come back here again."

By the time he spat the last word, Stan was shaking all over, not believing what had just left his mouth. He didn't count on his climax to reach that high, least of all being directed to his previous source of all nervousness. It just exploded like gunpowder concealed beneath for too long, and it was almost frightening.

There was no trace of a prior smile now at all. Now it got replaced with an illegible expression Stanley had never seen on the clown before. It was cold, unmoving, lacking everything that made the clown seem somewhat human before, and he found it to be much more unsettling than any grin the entity has ever provided. Looking back, he also found himself asking if he was going to live to see tomorrow.

But the clown didn't charge at him, didn't expose his deadly tusks for teeth, didn't even make a move toward him. Instead, Pennywise eased into crawling backwards and into a standing position, displaying himself in his true enormity. He slowly backed further away and into a corner from which he disappeared into the shadows and faded away like a desert mirage to a thirsty voyager. It was like the walls swallowed him. All in the matter of short seconds.

What constricted Stan's chest was the fact that he never broke eye contact with the boy.

The Jewish boy marveled at how the prickly air of unease disappeared instantly out of presence and he was left with nothing but occasional squeaks of the house and rain that started to pour against the remaining windows. Stanley set the book aside, unconvinced that the clown wasn't pulling a trick on him, which wouldn't be the first time. He looked around the room and listened, expecting to catch a sound from upper floors, indicating the creature's ever-presence.

But as the minutes stretched on, interrupted only by rainfall, it became apparent that the beast was truly gone, and Stan was finally left alone.


	8. Trust issues (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a sexual assault and some bad Stan whump

First things first, it was difficult to copy Georgie's version of the story and make it persuadable enough, and then garnish it with a spicy lie of how Richie's parents weren't home, so they'd ensure as best as possible that no phonecalls between grownups were in danger to be made. With Sonia Kaspbrak, one could never be entirely sure, all precautions taken.

Eddie had successfully robbed the cupboards of necessities, checking the mental list quickly along the way while Richie was doing his best to keep Mrs. Kaspbrak's attention to himself. He didn't have to try hard, though: she barely moved eyes off the TV screen, shoving the senseless ludicrous rant in the background. There wasn't a day she wouldn't ask herself why she was still allowing her son to hang around this lanky scut. Richie was bad influence all over, opportunistic in the face of mischief and compulsive to say or do what he wanted. That itself wouldn't climax to cataclysmic measure had it not been for that trouble-seeking Denbrough boy whose indefatigable character created an oblique pattern he paved and dragged the afore evasive Eddie along, together with his variegated group of friends. The only reason for Sonia's connivance was that Eddie had no other friends, and as a mother, she knew how much it meant to him.

But her call-out preventing the two boys from rushing out the door had nothing to do with Bill. ˮEddie?"

Her son froze two steps from the door, backpack hanging sloppily off one shoulder, Richie at his heels. ˮYes?"

„Where do you think you're going?" Sonia Kaspbrak's voice was eerily calm, as quiet as Eddie's but nohow insecure. Her eyes shone tensely behind her glasses.

„At Richie's?"

„On weather like this?"

Richie and Eddie whipped their heads towards the nearest window to be met with a massive downpour and the first clap of thunder that got their attention that afternoon. It only reached their senses then, the furious tapping of raindrops on the windows and the overall gentle susurration they created on the roof.

„Oh, fffffffffff-libbertigibbet", Richie corrected himself in time, gripping fistfuls of his scruffy hair.

„How're we supposed to get back now?"

Eddie sighed, saying what he was expected to say. ˮWe can't. Not until it's over."

„What?! Do you know how long it might take?" he turned back to Mrs. Kaspbrak. ˮCan't we get an umbrella?"

„Oh, you're free to go, young man", the intensity of her voice didn't change, and neither did her stance. ˮBut Eddie's going nowhere. He'd catch cold before he'd leave the doorway. And we don't want a repeat from last fall, do we?" her risen eyebrow didn't mean an answer was required. ˮNow back to your room, Eddie."

Seeing no point in trying to break the enormous woman's demeanor, and only wishing the clown was here to simplify things a little (and feeling no remorse for those thoughts), Richie hurried with Eddie to his room, barely keeping back from spluttering his mind like a storm raging outside.

„What are we gonna do?" he whisper-shouted, even as they were out of range of Eddie's mother.

„Nothing", Eddie shrugged, helplessness audible and visible on his whole person.

„What, so we're just gonna leave Stan to sit there in pain? We aren't gonna help him?"

„You wanna go out there, Rich?" Eddie snapped back. ˮSeriously, try being reasonable for once. I'm concerned about him as much as you are, but let's be real, this", he tapped his bakcpack, "is not gonna do much. Even if I _did_ manage to roll my bike over there, the whole swelling thing you saw wouldn't just magically stop. He needs hospital treatment for that shit", he paused, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Rainfall sounds were already making him drowsy, even as the air pressure curbed. ˮAt least the clown's there to keep an eye on him."

„You're saying that like it's a good thing", Richie deadpanned, leaning against the window to watch the nature wreck their plans. ˮEven squirt knows that Stan isn't okay with him. For all we know, one of them could be dead right now."

Eddie thought that would sooner apply to Pennywise than to Stan, but didn't comment it out loud. The clown walked around with a dome of extremely protective nature, which could be felt in his nearest proximity, but also when the Losers were completely stressed out, whether about school, or their parents, or the bullies, and Pennywise would sometimes pop up to console them, and sometimes they would just feel his presence in their heads, something that should be unnerving, but would instantly calm them down.

„I just hope Bill and the others made it back", Eddie had finally said. Richie sighed, but didn't answer for once, resuming to watch the rain's gavotte, like sacrificial dance of a primitive tribe.

  
  


„You didn't count on this, did you?"

Bill looked up through his dripping-wet bangs at the furious sky, watching as nature gave all she had, refusing to respond. Beverly could say whatever she wanted — this _wasn't_ his fault. Bill didn't control weather. If he did, he wouldn't let them be caught in the middle of a heavy autumn storm forced to run for ten minutes, burdened with heavy bikes.

„If you want someone to t-t-take blame, consult with God", he let her know, trying to prop his feet up on the bike to keep them from soaking in dirty water. Well, at least the Barrens had a decently disposable amount of pipes to take shelter in. Even if it meant waiting near the entrance, huddled together to keep warmth.

„Maybe this leads somewhere", Mike speculated, trudging deeper into the pipe.

„Of course it does, Penny's pipes go everywhere", Bev paused, eyes calculating. ˮHe could literally go to Hollywood just like that."

„Y-you don't mean to tell me you're serious about dragging those b-b-b-bikes through who knows how deep water? In the dark?"

Mike shrugged, mood dropping like an putrid fruit from an old branch, and he shook a little in his thin brown jacket.

„Do you think Eddie and Richie got back?" Beverly asked, pulling a hoodie over her wet hair, even as it was no danger of being molested any further. She watched with the boys as thunder ripped up the sky, and the sound echoed loudly in the metal pipe, mixed with rushing water. The only answer Bill could provide was a miserable sigh.

  
  


It wasn't a particularly loud thunder that slowly dragged him out of his sleep, like a fisherman the caught fish. Matter of fact, Stan had no idea he was asleep until then. He had no idea _when_ he fell asleep in the first place. He only knew what he heard, consciousness still fragile, but senses very much aware.

Voices.

Stanley hissed a sharp breath, trying to jerk himself awake while the world started spinning. Soft murmur of the rain didn't work to his advantage at all, but he managed to prop himself up on his elbows and strained his ears for a better listen.

_Finally_ , was his first thought, but then goosebumps dissipated over his arms and down the back of his neck, so the greeting that sat on his tongue was instantly swallowed back down. Stan tried figuring out the feeling as he looked around in search for the blasted clown who was nowhere in sight. He frowned and pushed himself up, barely gritting his teeth in pain when the voices got closer, ringing just behind the door. The boy couldn't catch any individual words, but his heart instantly began racing and he was fully awake.

Those didn't belong to any of his friends.

Stanley's mind went blank when the door opened with a bang letting in the hissing of the rain including the voices' owners. Their loudness rang dissonantly around the empty house, like Schönberg interrupted one of Haydn's harmonious symphonies, and Stan was left choking on a horrifying realization that it wasn't even Henry Bowers and his gang.

„Fucking whether with fucking rain soaking me the fuck whole", one of two men seethed, raking a hand through his dripping sandy hair. He spat on the floor like it was a beaten up cat. ˮCan't chase the fucking dragon."

„You can now" said the other, giving a crooked grin, trying to pull something from his leather jacket. Stan barely noted a nasty scar creeping down the right side of his face. He was absolutely petrified by now, having recognized the two figures and wished he could just drown in the couch, disappear out of existence completely.

„We could crash over night. Call it a da—"

The leather jacket-clad man stopped in mid step, eyes locking directly with Stan's and the boy felt his heart skipped a beat as he tried to suppress a whine. One of the man's eyes was foggy, his hair disheveled and attire in tatters. He looked like he was falling apart, but had evil enough in those eyes to keep him alive. However, the grin he gave the boy next was probably the most horrific thing Stan had ever seen, full of yellow, rotten teeth.

„Ey, man. Looks like someone got here before us."

„What?" the other, lanky one, who looked like his skin was pulled over the bones, joined him. Stan found the size of his pupils sickening. He realized that, even if his foot was completely healthy, he couldn't have run, or moved at all. He was completely frozen.

„It's one of those bike kids."

He giggled in a way that made Stan shiver and try retreat until his back hit the armrest. He could feel how pure fear started to bubble in the pit of his stomach, burn his throat and swarm in his head.

„Well, whad'ya know", the lanky one grinned and his expressed cheekbones popped up like hills in the dead valley. ˮCoincidences do exist."

A pathetic 'no' escaped Stan's lips barely stronger than a breath when the two were over to the couch in a millisecond, clutching fistfuls of his shirt. Looks _are_ deceiving, Stan realized, when he felt just how much dangerous vigor there was in those skin-and-bone hands.

„How do you do, little fella", those huge pupils stared into his own, compressed by terror. ˮI'm sorry, in all previous haste we had no chance to properly meet. I'm Jim and this is my boy Lenny", he jerked his head at the scar-faced who was standing behind and watched the show. ˮAnd you're gonna tell us where's the rest of your little squad."

Stan was too busy trying to breathe and not piss his pants to form any verbal indicant that he acknowledged what was said. He found strength to struggle and try retreat, but had nowhere to. His foot protested acidly at this and the boy gritted his teeth firmly, but a whimper still escaped him.

The man holding him made a copy of his face, adding excessive crying noises that made Stan want to vomit. ˮAw, what's wrong, wimp? Cat got your tongue or you just used to having dicks in your mouth?"

„I think he is, Jim", grinned the leather-clad nark. ˮAnd if my senses serve me right, I think he's just asking for one."

Stan began wheezing like Eddie would after realizing he'd got all answers wrong in the test whilst furiously shaking his head. ˮNo... please, please don't, I... _please..._ "

His captor grinned a savage open-mouthed grin and a string of saliva escaped his lips and whether or not he wanted it to, the junkie paid it no mind, his crazed eyes settled only at the prize before him. ˮLook at you beggin' like a real little bitch", he cackled in a way only a maniac could, a hive mind of ruthlessness and inexorability. ˮWell... and who am I to deny such pestering..."

With one hand secured firmly on the boy's shirt, the man began unbuckling his belt, eyes never leaving Stanley's, blurry from tears, and his distressed, frenzied pleas and pained struggles were ignored.

A crash that intervened from somewhere in another room sounded far too deliberate in its intensity; just loud enough so all three could hear it, not too strong to make them think the house was finally collapsing. The one called Jim froze in the middle of action and the two maniacs whipped their heads around as if hit with a bat, hearing an incomprehensible mumble, a child giggle and a shushing noise. Then a complete silence.

„What the fuck was that?"

„No idea."

„Maybe it's the rest of those scums."

„Go check", the junkie rounded to face Stan again where the boy was doing his best not to throw up from desperation and fear. „I'll have my fun here."

„No—n-no, help. Help! _Somebody help me! He—_ "

A not the least bit held-back slap cut off his words and his head flew in the direction of the hit, making fresh tears spill down his flushed cheeks. ˮShut the fuck up, you cunt!" the acidhead bellowed in his face, the stench of his breath making Stan's head spin as the other man walked away, no hesitancy in his step. Stan could hear him calling out mockingly, and hoped that, if those _were_ his friends, they made a better use out of their legs than him.

Rough fingers grabbed his face and turned him to confront his tormentor who licked his lips greedily.

„You have no idea how much I'll enjoy this", he hissed, proceeding the act of removing his belt and unzipping his pants as Stanley gagged, efforts to keep the vomit in becoming more vain. He gripped at the hand that held him, trying to tear it off, but all he managed was a feeble tap, feeling his head going light as his eyes drifted to the rigid tent in the man's pants.

Abrupt screaming that erupted out of nowhere froze every blood cell in their bodies as the man's hideous act was once again stopped. It tirelessly continued, filled with pain and sheer horror; sounding like it wanted to grow stronger, but there was only so much one voice could do. It belonged to the other doper, no doubt — but what was happening to him was obscured by a wall, so the pair could only listen as shrieking continued, then a couple of loud thuds, like he hit the ground and tried to crawl. Then deaf silence. Like someone shut off the TV. No sound to confirm a life was distinguished; any audible sign that Lenny existed was wiped off the face of Earth as nothing else was left but whispers of the rain and silent roars of thunder. And it petrified both Stanley and Jim as the latter furiously turned back around after several seconds of trying to call for his friend, a familiar pocket knife being pressed against Stan's neck.

„What the fuck did you do, you little shit?!" the yell that followed was almost as loud as the previous screaming and it made the poor boy bawl for real. ˮYou and your friends playing some sick games? Huh?! Quit your fucking whining and look at me! Where is he? _What did you do to him?!_ "

Clusters of inharmonic 'I don't knows' broke out of Stan's mouth, mixed with gurgling pleas and if this image of the boy crying hot tears, snot pouring from his nose and spit escaping his mouth wasn't an equivalent to a complete wreck, then nothing was. He jerked his injured leg and gritted his teeth as the knife pressed deeper into his skin, on the edge of piercing it.

„I'll kill you", the man seethed, teeth gritted in fury tangible in the air around them. Distant thunderclap jumped in to corroborate his statement. ˮI'll fucking kill you...!"

Something moved behind the guy's raging face, but couldn't be brushed off as a patch of shadow in peripheral vision, since it kept growing. Stan managed to detach his eyes from his captor and lift them above his head, immediately holding his breath; if there was an eye-bulging competition, Stan would win in that moment. The figure kept growing taller and taller as it straightened in full height and its head nearly touched the ceiling, radiation of itself terrifying enough that Stan was sure he positively pissed himself.

The clown stood enormous, still like a mannequin, with hands stiff at his sides like a doll on strings hanging with no user to bring it to life. Dark shadows of glum afternoon wrapped an anomalous veil across the creature's face, which was twisted into a grin that made the quondam smiles directed at Losers seem too friendly; rows and rows of sharp teeth wouldn't fit in It's mouth and they stuck out like an impenetrable, compact cluster of icicles. In addition, Pennywise's eyes burned like melting gold, tiny specks of vicious light in the depth of his contrived eyeballs, and you wouldn't know which was more frightening. The fact that he made no sound in the least while making his abstruse entrance made Stan balance clumsily on the verge of unconsciousness.

In whichever measure delirious, Jim had to be aware of Stan's abrupt change in demeanor because he slowly, slowly turned around, like a starting carousel. A deep droning rumble echoed from somewhere beneath Pennywise and it could've been his stomach or his throat, the man who turned to face his worn silver costume didn't care. Jim's eyes lifted, following the three red pompoms, a messy ruffle and finally, a face that was the germ of the abyssal nightmares.

Pocket knife tumbled on the ground soundly as the man's mouth opened in a mute scream, but huge hands clamped around his thin throat, preventing anything from slithering out and lifting him up in the air with the same ease as a child would pick his toy. Jim weakly clawed at the gloved hands which sustained zero damage while the abomination growled unearthly and gnashed its abhorrent teeth, drool dripping freely down its chin and onto the costume. Fear that came to It like opium on air made it grunt uncontrollably, hunger and euphoria compressing and dilating in burning pupils.

Facing karma in person, Jim's doped brain lacked any rational, or thought in general, but maybe that inborn part of human psyche was the reason his mouth managed to work. ˮWha- what the fucking hell are you?"

If Pennywise wanted to grace him with an answer, he couldn't do it this hungry. When meal all but walked into his hands after a long, long time. He was so reinvigorated that deadlights started fluttering in his throat and sounds of thunder and rain became nonexistent in their continuous flow. But if hunger was this strong, anger prevailed even more so. In his immortal rage, Pennywise could see claws ripping though the white gloves and sinking into the soft flesh, but not enough to kill the man. Just enough to send intoxicated blood sipping through, and the man wheezing and kicking pathetically.

Pennywise felt fear overflowing into a bitter taste of pain and wrapped the theatrics up, spreading his jaw out of his chosen physique's normal standards. The man's screams melted into Pennywise's indiscernible noises as his mouth enveloped the stoner's head, biting it clear off in one swift move. Somewhere in this deep turmoil of himself, Pennywise begged Stan wasn't watching. He could feel the boy's presence in him all along, trembling like a string, burning like lava spilling over his heart and only delicious blood prevented it from reaching his stomach as the intruder was being devoured.

Little to clown's knowledge, Stan _made sure_ he didn't see anything: his eyes were squeezed shut and hands clamped over his ears firmly, even as muffled noises of living horror pulled through and made him nauseous all over again. The boy shook with all adrenaline he had left, being able to do nothing else. It seemed to him that no matter which side he turned to, there was no escape from this capricious, violent, terror-striking reality that made him lose his mind bit by bit until there was nothing left to lose. Only the fact that he noticed he was wheezing like one of his lungs was missing made him register that something was different. Trying to stabilize his breathing to somewhat sensible point, Stan realized the noises were gone. The smell of blood was unmistakable, but his ears were spared the ferocity of annihilation.

After eternal amount of time he finally forced his eyes to open, directing them nowhere at first. Then he looked up at the looming figure.

Not counting the amount of blood decorating the ruffle and around his mouth, the clown looked like himself, all down to the warm blue eyes Stan had detested so much. If it really was himself. His face lacked hideous grimace and there were no more killer teeth. Stan could almost believe nothing had happened. Pennywise was bent down a little, concern written over his face as he searched the boy's own, not missing a beat. „Stanley?"

Stan shook all over, forgetting the act of speech, not even flinching when Pennywise slowly reached out and brushed the remaining tears from his cheeks with gentle fingers. He moved it away quickly, though, as if burned by this stupendous amount of fear Stan reeked of.

„No, d-don't be afraid", the clown stuttered, reeling back a little, anguish twisting his person, red lines on his face prolonging as his lips fell into a frown. „Don't be sc-scared, pLEAsE, Stanley. He... _he wanted to hURt YOu. I woULdN't—I cOUlDn't let— I th— I..._ "

Stan's breath hitched in his throat and a thousand words swarmed around his brain like a busy hive, but no word ever reached his tongue. Here it was, the creature the boy restrained from having as less as possible touch with, which had revealed its true nature right in front of him and killed a man in coldest, cruelest way possible without so much as a blink. Stan's limbs should've sent him running, and fear should've overcome the ankle pain enough to carry him away, all the way to his home, never to return again. He should've screamed until he had no breath left, batting away at the monster, to get it as far away from him as possible in this immobile vulnerable state he was trapped in. But none of rational and logical found refuge in Stan's frozen brain, bleak like a forgotten wasteland.

Without thinking, he shot out forward like an arrow released from the longbow, clutching at the silver satin and pulling the enormous clown forward into a fierce hug. The force that paved their collision was painful, but he didn't care. Stan felt bitter sting of tears and his nose starting to clog again as instead of exploding like a mushroom bomb, remnants of panic began to ooze out agonizingly slow, and it only made him claw at Pennywise more frantically. He pressed himself into the suit, almost wanting to disappear into it, and the fact that it was completely soaked in blood, or that Pennywise's chin resting against his temple was covering it in the same substance, wasn't relevant at all. He just needed to feel another heartbeat and hear another breath other than his own.

Pennywise was forced to sit on the sofa's edge, but if he knew that, and if he acknowledged the pain in his chest and sternum when Stan catapulted himself into him, he didn't react. His eyes went wide at the feeling of a small, warm body clinging onto him for dear life. The entity was familiar with the whole 'hugging' thing; Georgie loved them and used them almost every day, and sometimes Beverly would ask for it without using words and Pennywise would always be there for her. But this wasn't the same. This was a sheer hungry need, panic and fear the being could taste on its tongue. But it didn't evoke hunger and aspiration to devour the child as it normally would. Instead, Pennwise felt his stomach turn and twist, and he had to smother the need to throw up as Stanley kept shaking with fresh terror. Everything happened so fast.

Slowly, very slowly, Pennywise moved his long arms and wrapped them around the shivering boy's back, and when he didn't resist, pulled him in, enveloping him into safety with easy gentleness. Instantly, he could feel the Uris child relax a little, back muscles releasing and the grip of his fingers loosen to flex. A sob escaped him, muffled by the neck ruffle, but it was enough to almost knock the wind out of the clown who felt it like a physical punch. It only made him tighten the embrace, all but pulling the boy in his lap.

In that moment, Pennywise felt that if anything tried to take Stan away from him — anything, including other Losers — he would kill it without a second thought. He all but verbalized the word _'MINE'_ that formed out of nowhere in his oversized head. Nothing was ever going to take the boy away from him unless he said or did otherwise. _Never_. The blue eyes gave a blink of yellow to the clown's firm vehemence.

„Don't leave me again", Stan managed, voice muffled, strained and pathetic, but there.

Pennywise's heart constricted to the point of hurting when Stan sagged against him. Exhaustion and weariness did their part, and the shaking had slowly subdued, slower than fire smoldering into nothingness. The clown could feel his stomach settling as the energy around the boy appeased and he took to keeping as still as possible and never letting go. Soft tapping of the rain became the only obstacle between them and the maddening silence.

  
  


„God, I thought it'd never stop" Eddie grumbled, pushing the old door open. ˮI swear, if I'd had to sleep here, I wouldn't have even hesitated — if mom saw me the least bit wet, I'd be allowed to leave the house only for my own funeral."

Nobody commented because A) they all suffered the same damage and B) the mood had become so sour by now that speaking seemed to require extra effort. However a somewhat decent shelter from a wet cloud-residing parasite was much too be grateful for, and dusty old creaky 29 Neibolt seemed like a long-anticipated Christmas present.

„Hey, Eddie", Richie stood in the lobby. ˮI don't think you'd be able to sleep over even if you wanted to. Look."

The group walked over peeking into the living room. The Tozier boy had to force both palms over his mouth firmly to stop laughter from exploding while Beverly smiled softly, and the rest just stared dumbfounded.

Tucked in thick duvets which weren't there before — and which appeared too clean for 29 Neibolt standards, dully noted — lay Stanley in deep sleep, breathing rhythmical and tranquil face looking calmer than ever before. Pennywise was kneeling on the floor, looking almost serene if it was possible for someone like him. His head was resting on the boy's lap, a position surely uncomfortable for anyone else, but one the clown clearly wasn't willing to give up anytime soon. His focalized blue eyes were running over the rows of Stanley's schoolbook he held in front of his face, upside-down. One of Stan's hands was buried in soft orange tufts of hair, and the other suffered the unfortunate fate of getting soaked in saliva under the clown's chin.

„Someone have a camera?" Richie whisper-wheezed. ˮI want something to embarrass him with on his wedding, or whatever it is they have."

„Do you think we could wake him?" Eddie added. ˮI wanna see his face when he realizes his hand ended up in Droolburg."

„Oh shut up", even though quiet, Beverly's voice was still firm, but softened up when she looked back at the pair. ˮLook, they're bonding."

„What did we miss?" Mike related, equally amused by the sight as everyone else.

Pennywise turned his head slightly to look at them, but not enough for Stan's hand to abandon his hair, annoyed by the sudden shattering of silence; a long finger instantly went up to his ruby lips as he shushed them quietly. ˮ _Sshhhhhhh. Stanley's SleEEeEep iNG._ "

Bill didn't know the clown could read. Then again, they probably knew less of Pennywise than he of them.


	9. Missed me? (BTS)

Bill fiddled around with the script, not minding its content much. He would've sat down to rest, but that's what he was essentially doing the whole morning. His eyes stung from the furious makeup and fatigue, and the least he could do was getting the contacts off, thankfully being allowed to whenever they had a break between cuts. Bill's head swarmed with content that didn't even have anything to do with today and he could safely conclude that Pennywise was back. He sighed heavily. So much for his 'exorcism' while he was back home in Sweden after wrapping up the first filming. It all looked like he was going to have to do it one more time. Never before had he felt such fierce conflict between succumbing to exhaustion and further exploring the character's limits. It was pulling him in both directions, and for many sleepless nights, he was doing his best to keep himself whole and on the ground.

„Bill", a feminine voice snapped his attention back to the real world and he turned around to face Barbara. His left eye itched a little, but to hell if he was going to reach up and rub it.

„Yes?" For all things she could've needed him for, he thought it was going to relate to the following scene. Or the scene the day after tomorrow, or the next week. Or anything that had to do with work and acting his mind off.

He didn't expect the following. ˮYou've got a visitor."

Bill's eyebrows were hidden by the ton of makeup, but Pennywise's deep frown lifted a little in his attempt to give a quizzical look. The Muschietti sibling just smiled and stepped aside, revealing a grinning juvenile face a few feet ahead. Bill's switch automatically snapped back to character and he spread his arms when the kid ran forward in full speed, catching him and lifting him up in the air. He exploded a hysterical laugh as he shook the boy from side to side while he was shrieking with laughter himself, clutching onto the sleeves of Pennywise's silver costume. The impact that changed the atmosphere in that moment was incredible and Bill felt like he was full of life again, his distorted giggles nearly melting into real ones.

Eventually, Bill brought him closer, adjusting his hold of the kid, having to use both arms to hold him up now.

„Hiya, Georgie!" he used Pennywise's cordial voice matching his own mood. He could already feel his spirits lifting as Jackson grinned back.

„Hi, Bill."

„Whacha doin'?" and just like flipping the switch again, he dropped the clown grimace along with his voice, but kept the friendly smile. He wouldn't have been able to remove it even if he wanted to, no matter how tired he was. This child could cure depression by just being present.

„Nothin'", the young actor returned, picking at Bill's dirtied neck ruffle.

„You got heavy or is it just me?"

„I'm not fat", he frowned comically, making Bill laugh genuinely. „I just got taller."

„You did?"

„Yeah."

„How old you got?"

„Gonna hit ten in September."

Bill dropped his jaw comically along with his eyes going big, making Jackson giggle in glee and grip one of his pompoms. ˮOh my God, you _did_ grow."

„And one day, I'm gonna be as tall as you", the sheer finality in Jackson's voice made Bill grin widely, buckteeth digging into his lip.

„You will?"

„U-huh."

„You gonna take this role for me then?"

„Nah, that's okay. You're doing a great job already", he thumbed the older actor up, and Bill took it as the meaning of silent support.

„Why, thank you."

„You're welcome."

„So what're you doing here? Come visiting?"

Jackson's arms went clumsily around Bill's neck when the tall man adjusted him in his hold. ˮNo, we're doing a scene tomorrow."

Bill's eyes grew again and he tried and failed to suppress a smile. ˮWe are?"

„U-huh."

„Well, how about that. You excited to be back?"

„Yup! We're gonna have so much fun!" the kid grinned, enveloping Bill's heart in warm, comfortable ooze as his smile grew.

„Oh, yes we are", he added a pinch of IT's persona, making his eye drift to the left a little. ˮYou ready to get down with Pennywise again?"

„Yeah! I'm not scared anymore at all." To support what he said, Jackson gave a short deliberate roar and Bill got into gear, rearing back and pulling an exaggerated terrified face that got Jackson cracking up again.

„Is that so..." Pennywise's voice came out all nasal, high and cracking. ˮWell whad'ya know, your arm sprung back. I guess I didn't bite it off right."

Jackson's boisterous laughter made his heart flutter again as he gripped his right arm and playfully nibbled on it, muffling the growling noises. He then decanted the action into tickling the boy's ribs while he was setting him down, maniacally laughing like he only knew best.

„Scurry now", he told him, releasing him after a moment and sending him away with a pat on his back. The boy skipped to where he came from, cheer in his step, and Bill watched him leave with a smile still lingering on his face.

He already felt better.


	10. Bedlam

The worst ache of them all had to be coming from the fact that this was a standoff. There was no solution imaginable that would let all of them walk away cheerfully like bidders after a successful auction. It was like a nightmare, abrupt and definitive, coming sharp, calamitous, after long period of everything seeming to be alright and staying that way. It reminded of a house of cards that grew as tall as the world, appearing indestructible in its shine of blazing glory, but only a flick at the bottom was enough to send the whole structure tumbling. Only, when the source of a flick was unknown, it made the situation more bitter than it already was. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Bill released what had to be the longest and most final sigh of his life. His heart ached a long, hard, excruciating pain which he wasn't sure was coming from what happened before or what was to follow. He wished he could brush off the memory of Georgie clawing and begging at him, screaming his little heard off at his brother not to go, how he couldn't do it, not to him. Not to any of them. How, if what he intended was done, _he_ would be the monster.

Bill had no idea how he could walk away from him in such a cold manner, but the image of Georgie bawling his eyes out at the foot of his bed, dernier betrayal dimming his gaze, would stick forever engraved in his head.

Coming back to his house, he realized, would be equally difficult as entering the cistern now. Bill swallowed, wanting to cry, but tears wouldn't come. He was as cold as winter, which didn't care who was capable of enduring it and who wasn't. He tried feeling remorse. Shame. Guilt. Anything close to those, but nothing similar struck his heart.

He felt pressing of a hand into his own. ˮIt's for everyone's best", said Beverly.

Bill locked eyes with her, realizing hers were glistening with tears, but burned the fire of finality that reminded him he wasn't alone in this. The older Denbrough looked behind at the rest of the group, the same glum, crestfallen looks and broken hearts, avoiding each other's eyes. None of them wanted to do this, Bill realized, but there was no other way around. No calculation that could turn the tables, no magic words to set things right. It was either their friend, or the world.

And there was no math here.

Bill looked at each of his friends, clutching the weapon in his hand and realizing it was shaking like crazy as they were about to face the hardest decision they have all mutually agreed on.

„Are you with me?" Bill's tone was absolute, final in the fact that he hadn't stuttered, much less noticed he hadn't. The message was clear; the offering of last chance to quit, to walk away from this. An action nobody took.

„Till the end", was Ben's only response.

They were meant to walk determined. And maybe, if Pennywise was never their friend, just this horrendous, mindless monster he has turned into, they would. Like this, it seemed that with every step, the following was much slower and heavier, and if the smeared water decided to pull them in to devour them, nobody would've noticed.

  
  


It was as frightening to see him now as it was the first time it started happening. Pennywise wasn't trying to hide, like he used to. Before, the club was met only with silence, left pondering from which side their silly friend would jump out, startling them senseless. A repetitive trick, but one that worked every time.

Now they could hear his incomprehensible screeches and howling like that of a dying animal, mixing words that couldn't hope to be distinguished. This would periodically all flow into inhuman growls and roars off the concept of Earth that made Bill waver in his step even more so.

Pennywise was doing obscenities on the stage of his wooden cart, with himself and with avulsed leftovers of the corpses he had remorselessly liquidated in his own morbid way in the past several weeks, and when he turned to the intruders, there didn't seem to be any sign of recognition in those angry, angry yellow eyes.

One look was all it took, and the beast had probably already known their intentions. It dropped the bone it was frantically gnawing at, rising from the crouch, frown deeper than ever, gaze locked against the group of puny humans who dared to invade him.

Bill's voice, encouraged by the consoling thought Georgie wasn't here to witness this madness, was strong: ˮWe c-c-c-can't let you keep doing this." The boy tried to sound brave, but the voice came out cold like everything else radiating off him. Pennywise gave a low, dangerous growl, saliva dripping freely down his jaw. The next second his face crumpled like a wet paper as a lone wail escaped him, echoing in broad space.

„I don't know w-what happened to you", Bill breathed, lifting the  
CZ  
quickly, because he knew if he hesitated the least bit, he'd crumble to dust in the clutches of indecision. He could still see, however, how his hand furiously shook with the gun pointed at his former friend's head and his voice finally cracked from strained emotions. ˮBut you buried our friend when you started this."

The _click-click_ of the load was all it took for Pennywise to jump off the elevated space with a harsh, piercing caterwaul, but it took a gunshot itself for the rest of the Losers to spring into action.

Every hit by the chosen weapon was like a punch back at them. The bullet missed, was it intentional or not, or was Bill just weak as ever, nobody questioned. The cistern had come alive with noises that enlaced into one another, fusing children's hollers, Pennywise's horrendous blares and metal clangs that made it sound like they were in the middle of the livest battle in the world. The hectic clown had no idea which side to turn to when he was met with blows on either one, thus making his obliterating mind kindle further like barrels of powder coated in kerosene, just waiting to get blown up.

But if he succumbed to his destructive, desolate, indignant self, the kids haven't. They couldn't. Every swing took a separate amount of guts to take, so concluded Beverly while instead of stabbing the assailant three times bigger than her in the head, she lifted her poker as a defense against razor sharp teeth that clasped firmly at the heavy iron.

„You are not yourself, Pen!" Beverly hollered above adrenaline-filled air, trying to keep her feet steady against rough shaking and convulsing the clown had induced on the barrier. ˮTry to think!"

Mania didn't draw back from the abhorrent constricted-pupiled eyes unparalleled in their capability to combust soul and mind to wreckage and dust, and Beverly nearly found herself buckling under unmitigated pressure which would've been the case had Ben not delivered a solid strike on the back of the fiery head with a blunt steel rod, sending the monster staggering, manifesting another round of deafening hollers.

Eddie should've vamoosed the moment the clown fixated him as his next target; should've chickened out no matter how much it degrades his dignity or reputation because he wasn't prepared to die today. He always thought he'd die in hospital bed, most probably of primary CNS lymphoma, or syphilis, or some other nasty shit. Nothing close to assimilation in the pit of the cannibalistic clown's stomach. So when the clown charged, mouth stretched apart impossibly and a million teeth pointed forward, Eddie focused, intending to flip all bullcrap about friendship and stab the motherfucker because, shit, he wanted to _live_.

However at this point, his knees gave in and he fell over on his rear, nonetheless keeping the pathetic spike he excused for a weapon pointed upward to plunge it into the creature's gullet and skedaddle the heck outta there, but another friend-ass-saving came from Stanley's side as he hooked the crowbar from inside the upper jaw of Pennywise's mouth from behind, exposing it in its full terrorizing glory to stop his disease-susceptible friend from being deprived of his head.

Eddie's eyes immediately widened at the look inside, and his actions froze like a paused tape, but it wasn't the dreadful amount of teeth that got him. He could feel Mike, who came up behind him to swing at the bastard, hesitate as well, knowing he had noticed the same. It took a split second to see as long as it took for Pennywise to start rampaging again, trying to throw Stan off his back in a crowing rage.

Mike pulled Eddie from the wet ground, getting a hold of him as he stumbled, eyes not leaving their target. ˮTell me you saw that", Eddie stammered, voice shaking from uncontained energy.

„I did", Mike's own voice was a lot firmer as was his stance. The boys eyed the turbulent brawl as the situation dawned on them.

„Bind him!" Eddie screamed, running back in, praying to all heavens somebody heard him. ˮOpen his mouth!"

„What?" It was Richie, tripping back up on his feet after being chucked on the floor, glasses miraculously still sitting on his nose, dirtied, but whole. Still, the look behind them was full of disbelief when he looked at Eddie.

„Do as he says!" Mike whacked the clown with all he had to keep him down. His screaming has become agonizing to hear.

Looks and nods were exchanged quickly, and no questions asked as the Losers scattered. Bill dropped the backpack on the floor and threw the gun over his shoulder as hard as he could, running over to the pile of toys in search of anything useful. His brain has decided to gift him with a memory at absolutely the worst time of how Richie had tried climbing the tower of cast away trumperies once, trying to reach a _'75 Marauder_ secured dangerously near the top. It goes without saying he never made it; the moment he outstretched his hand a little too far, his balance had decided to stretch out a leg and trip him like a mean bully it was. Just as he managed a decent scream, Richie was already falling back; falling — right into Pennywise's waiting arms. The Tozier boy obviously thought he was quick enough to push the grinning clown away with a vexed _'geroff'_ and scrambling up off the floor after being dropped before the rest of the Losers could see it, but Bill already had it stored neatly in his blackmail drawer.

The memory vanished like a cloud of smoke on the back of the wind as Bill found a lengthy strong chain, realizing it would have to suffice. It _had_ to.

Pennywise was absolutely out of his mind as he turned on his hands and feet, frantically trying to wrap all 360 degrees at once, face torn in a scowl and needle teeth bursting out of his unfit mouth. He was everlasting, an entity that would live to the end of times and beyond, the creature of indisputably humongous abilities, but still corporal and limited in the actions of this body. So when the following swings were showered down on It to keep It on the ground as the air around the Losers changed from brain-squeezing torn grief to pure determination, in no way the emotion the creature sought, It could do little to stop them.

The tide of battle shifted a little when Pennywise kicked Beverly's poker from her grip with one mean swing and tried for a millionth time to get up on his feet and show these little pinheads the meaning of pain. Its plan didn't agree with the the kids even though they succeeded pissing It off to Its limits and there was still energy left in them, the creature could feel, to submit It.

The cursed chain went around the clown's torso and arms in a few swift movements, and clung onto his limbs like a fraught viper. The Losers grabbed at his arms, dug in his back, using all the force to keep him down on one knee. Bill reached over in his struggling resistance and used the blunt pipe to part his jaws. Sweat was leaking down the boy's temples in creaks, his muffled grunts mixing with Pennywise's mad roars.

„Eddie!" Bill wheezed, trying to secure the end of the pipe against the roof of his mouth as a prop, trying to relieve the overwhelming pressure his muscles had to endure. ˮWhatever you want to do, d-do it now!"

Eddie was the only one not taking part in restraining the giant, walking stiffly up to the clown from the front, and even as the beast was kneeling, Eddie could still look it straight in the eye. An eye that leaked nothing but hatred and rancor, and he prayed to everything he knew he was right about this or they were all gonna join the pile of bones.

„This is gonna hurt a little", he warned and with a shrill, stabbed the clown in the mouth.

It wasn't just Pennywise who started screaming like he was being burned alive and then frozen to frostbite and then burned again. Eddie was doing a double job trying to keep his senses to use the pike as a lever and not lose his footing as well as trying to add more strength to it by screaming his head off. It started off the chain reaction which sent a vortex of primal clamors up the cistern, and it wouldn't be surprising if the whole Derry heard them. Mike grabbed at whatever free space on the short pike, pressing and pushing in, doing what Eddie's thin hands could not; though it didn't seem to matter the Losers gave away the last bits of their strength while Pennywise still tried shaking his head from side to side, trying to escape this horrible, horrible pain, deadlights catching fire from all the frantic fury. Words seethed on Eddie's tongue, but could never hope to be discernible in storm of yells.

Then something gave in, and at first Eddie thought it was him, that he had finally succumbed to weakness and exhaustion, but the jolt that had sent him and Mike backwards on the sewer ground was too violent to be coming just from him. He thought he heard a _crunch!_ , but couldn't be sure. The structure of bodies fell apart, grunts and groans cutting off screaming like an axe through thin glass as everybody tumbled, exhaustion taking over, and nevertheless the situation being unclear, nobody had the slightest attention to move for several moments as the only thing audible was heavy breathing and an occasional cough.

Beverly lifted her head first, pushing away dizziness, glimmering blue eyes on Eddie who was soon gifted with all of the Losers' attention. Attention he used well, for he lifted the tiny object between his thumb and forefinger, blackened at the bottom, drilled with brown down its length, but still very much distinctive.

„Ladies and gentlemen", he managed between rapid breaths. ˮProblem solved.“

Stanley's look rocked in between disbelief and indecision, and such was his voice when he managed to find it. ˮA... tooth?"

„A rotten tooth", a wheeze cut Mike's words as he took over the small thing that caused such a devastating chaos and he could hardly believe it as he turned it between his fingers. It was meant to be sharp, for sure — these teeth were meant for killing — but now it was in worse state than a moist-eaten centuries old wood. Energy-deprived, the Losers slowly stumbled up on their feet, disbelief slowly replacing adrenaline like cold winter air entering wide-opened windows.

„Are you fucking..." Richie was still fighting for his lungs. ˮHow did... This is..."

Mike wheezed a laugh again, giving a firm pat at Eddie's shoulder, staring at the pulled (dug) out tooth with same fascination one would at the cube of gold. So far he was the only one capable of giving any reaction at all, as the others were approaching to comprehending what they just laid their friend's and their own lives down for.

It didn't last long, as one final tall, tall figure slowly stood up straight as a candle, without making a sound. Mike shut off like short circuit, face dropping to form fear.

The clown's face was cold, ruby lips parted slightly, hair and outfit in complete disarray, but yellow eyes focused entirely on Eddie. The said boy felt captured by it and managed a gulp, gathering all strength he had left to stay on his feet.

The Losers parted like the Red Sea when Pennywise made his first distorted step towards his target. The movement was uncoordinated, like he didn't try to capture full control over his long limbs, not trying to copy what was 'normal standards' as the club members would often remark. Low rumbles could be heard coming from somewhere within the clown as Eddie began to recoil half-heartedly.

„Oh Jesus... G-guys?" Eddie could feel something akin to tiny needles pinch at his every nerve while his eyes never left the horrid yellow and his voice barely managing to leave his constricted throat shaping aimless words. "Help? Please... _Ohgodidon'twannadie..._ "

Pennywise reeled back suddenly, an expression changing like a slideshow picture, mouth downturned in an expression the Kaspbrak boy couldn't identify and it made fear surge through his veins. The human-shaped beast had a habit of being eerily unpredictable, and it never really settled in the group even as it had been befriended. Something only Georgie didn't seem to mind, but wasn't affected by either.

The clown hesitated, dragging out a croaking gasp, and then surged forward with a ballistic outcry snatching the screaming Eddie and lifting him up into the air — laughing out incessantly.

„ _Eddie-... EdDieE! Eddie SpaGhETTi! EddIE-_ ", Pennywise rambled, mixing in completely rapturous giggles, shaking the completely startled boy in his grasp from side to side like a little child, like he rid him of the pain which lasted for millennia, which surely felt like it. His eyes were back to their old, merry, blue selves and Eddie felt partial relief as well as nausea bubbling in his stomach.

„Yeah, yeah you're welcome, big man, now please just _-ugh!-_ put me dow—oh no... no- no, _don't you dar—_ ˮ

No amount of struggling or scrunching his face up in preparation could save him from the clown already bringing him forward and placing a sound, deep smooch on Eddie's cheek, coating it in enough saliva to make him turn thirty shades of green when the clown finally backed up, giggles resuming. The amount of sheer love readable in clown's eyes held for the seized germaphobe in that moment was all but ready to explode from Pennywise's chosen body, but had nowhere to but through uncontrollable fits of high-pitched giggles.

Eddie kept the content of his stomach in for full three seconds; the amount of time enough for him to be put down and stagger over to the hole to empty his stomach. He heaved and choked in his post-heroic misery, not even trying to reach up and wipe away all the spit. In such a pathetic state, vomit mixing with the disgusting substance from the clown's mouth, Eddie failed to see how Bill had charged at Pennywise like a bull, toppling him over to the ground in a fierce hug, screaming how he could've killed him, and how dared he do that to all of them. Pennywise may have heard it or the outrageous curses that followed, for he had squeezed him back with same ferocity, kicking his legs like a huge toddler, laughing his head off in this renewed freedom. Everyone started yelling at the same time; at each other, at the clown for not saying anything, and at nothing, and Beverly burst into a storm of tears torn between happiness, exhaustion and total confusion. Richie sat down a bit farther, cupping his forehead with a palm and staring into empty air, trying to figure out what had just happened in the past twenty minutes and connect it with the events over the past few weeks.

„Well, Doctor K", he had said at last, seated next to his small friend who was still hunched over the hole gripping the now-empty inhaler, watching as Pennywise was being buried under a pile of bodies that were Losers, trying to wind his arms around all of them in a single hug, completely vivacous in his rebooted effervescence. ˮLooks like you saved the day again."

Eddie just gagged.


	11. Pennywise vs. the cucumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those youtube videos where people prank cats?

„This is unethical."

„You mean like your mom?"

Annoyed and idle in equal measure, Eddie pressed his lips together in a facial expression that usually meant Richie's head would endure a whack, but whether it was because he was just indolent today, or because he knew the blow wouldn't provide any particular use because Richie was never going to change, it didn't happen. It was one of those lazy days when the society was left stuck with doing as little as possible and every indispensable obligation was met with a groan. Bill, Ben and Stan were currently sporting a perfect visual of three shepherds asleep in the green grass, poetically scribbling a pastoral image of a lazy sunny day. Georgie had already crashed earlier today, so for him it wasn't an option, and he and Mike were desperately trying not to giggle at what was about to come.

Pennywise, who was crouching a bit further on the dry ground, was entirely too focused on Beverly trying to teach him a cup game to be aware of Richie's intentions. His eyes were wide and mesmerized by the girl's hands working skillfully around the plastic cup, moving and shifting it in her grasp and around the ground, but when it was his turn to try, his own hands fiddled clumsily, maybe because they were too big for a small cup, and he whined until Beverly demonstrated again with a grin so broad it looked like it hurt. Occupied in their own little world, neither of the two noticed Richie sneaking behind the giant, suited man-beast, ostensibly casually leaving something in the clown's close proximity, then retreating back to the audience with stifled giggles.

„He's gonna get you back for this, you know", Eddie said, even though having to force his lips to stay put.

„He's got a memory capacity of a goldfish, I don't think he could", Richie dismissed him, and then gave a sharp whistle. ˮHey, Dingles! _Popcorn!_ "

It was like an _abracadabra_ to a kid. Penny's head immediately whisked around, Bev and the cup completely forsaken. Even though kind and considerate with (only) eight of his friends, Pennywise was a hotspur, and heaven knew most of the clown's actions and reactions were excessive, but in Richie's subconsciousness, it was to be used whenever a chance was given. On and off, there was a tug of war between the pair, with Richie purposefully trying to rile him up and then snickering all the way home, knowing all the piqued thoughts had vanished out of the insulted clown's head as soon as he was thrown several carefully chosen sweet words and a scratch at the right place on his wild corona of hair.

It all but looked like it wasn't going to be any different this time. A wide smile began forming on the painted face, but then Pen's eyes spotted something green and long and _huge_ just bellow his feet, sending him into nuclear mode: with a scream beyond human limit, Pennywise jumped like a startled cat, then proceeded to frantically crawl backwards on his hands and push away with those tacky shoes, being little to no successful in his attempt to hide his enormous puffy-suited self behind Beverly. The girl, for her part, looked baffled, trying to process the situation while serving as a human shield against something she barely noticed. She did, however, very well notice the squad of four convulsing boys whose laughter masked Pennywise's panicked wheezes, as well as another three who looked alarmed and still half-asleep in equal measure, jerked awake from the afternoon slumber.

„W-w-wha- w-w-", no more came from Bill, who suffered an immediate brain malfunction against all information banging at his head. Ben looked ready to strangle someone, while Stan's face simply rumpled in his best attempt at confusion.

The instant he realized he was duped, Pennywise's forehead dropped into a characteristic frown. ˮYou..." he seethed, a string of drool escaping between his teeth. ˮ _You... did it agAIN! You bUZzArd! You tricked me, you—you-_ " his words became a mixup of senseless syllables, to which Richie was oblivious, doing his best not to pass out.

„Totally worth it", Richie wiped a tear from behind his glasses, ˮShit, man! You should've seen your face", he pointed at the clown, bright demeanor not retreating, not even at Bill, Ben and Stan's eye rolls as they settled to snooze for a little longer, annoyed by this pointless disruption. Georgie fell back in grass, coiled in fits of laughter, legs kicking in his childish exaggeration. He would've felt sorry for his friend, perhaps, if it wasn't this funny. Like this, he was helpless against becoming a prank accomplice — a role he didn't mind taking in this particular instance.

„He did it again, Bevvie", Pennywise cried to the only girl in the club, back to his melodramatic self. ˮ _He did it AGAin!_ Hit him. _Hit him!_ You hIT well... He's always doing it. He's mean, mean, _mean_!"

„Then be mean to him back", untouched by the absurdity of the situation (honestly, were all boys the same?!), Beverly patted the distraught drama queen's head, trying to keep her face out of the ruffles with her huge friend's chin on her shoulder. ˮThere, there, you big baby. Quit the fussing, will ya? It's just a plant. Don't tell me you're afraid of vegetables."

She didn't get an answer and therefore concluded he was just being spoiled now, gnawing at attention like a toddler after throwing a tantrum, so she sighed, giving in to consoling this unbelievable creature. Nevertheless, she shot Richie a look that would've sent any reasonable man running. Only, Richie was far from reasonable, was he?

„I still say he's gonna get you back for this", Eddie giggled at his scruffy-haired friend after a fair share of laughter, unable to resist. Still, there was a tremble of uneasiness creeping along the Kaspbrak boy's limbs at the look Pennywise directed at Richie from over Beverly's shoulder. Self-deception or not, he could've sworn he saw a shade of yellow half-moons blitz menacingly in the clown's eyes, and he was suddenly eminently glad he didn't own that cucumber...

  
  


If anyone noticed Richie was unusually silent next day in school (mute, really), and looking pale like he's been through a whole alien abduction ordeal, nobody asked him anything. They didn't have to.


	12. Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consequences. Stan goes through leftovers of trauma. Following "Trust issues"

What was meant to be a scream came out as a distorted wail as a jolt catapulted Stan into a sitting position. His fingers gripped the thin sheets with such firmness that they'd be strangled instantly had they been a living thing. A retch escaped him and he leaned over the bed's edge in time for his stomach to eject what was left of the disgusting hospital food he was forced to eat that evening. His abdominal muscles protested painfully, and he barely managed a wheeze before another wave, milder this time, made it out of his system followed by torturous coughs. Stan gripped the bed's edge, feeling hot tears creep down his cheeks that mingled with strings of burning stomach acid hanging off his lips. The boy engaged into series of frantic wheezes, pushing away the bitter remnants of the dream, practically feeling edges of his mouth burn from pressure and pain of being forced apart, and he took a moment to observe the surroundings.

It was dark and it hit Stan just how much it stank in the room, not including the vomit, so he had to give his ultimate best to prevent another contraction of his traitorous stomach. The hospital was cold, and provided no safety or comfort at all in the hideout of its thin blankets, hard mattress and a too small pillow. Stan eyed his foot which screamed in pain at his abrupt awakening, and saw it wrapped in the cast white as snow. The sight made him whine in between the wheezes, sounding more like a dying animal than a distressed boy.

The room seemed too big for only one bed, the one Stan was occupying, and such amount of privacy wouldn't usually bother him, but the fact that the nurses were cold, stern and impatient, talking down to him only to bark orders as if Stan was a dog, and that his parents had left as soon as the doctor had told them everything was fine, without even greeting or taking a look at their injured son, made Stanley start crying for real. He was so, so alone and so cold and terrified, and couldn't find comfort in anything at all.

„Help", he moaned, dragging the balls of his hands over his eyes and the sound barely resonated in empty space. ˮHe-help me... please..." Stan couldn't believe it was his voice; weak and torn, childish, completely pathetic like his current state of mind and body. The nightmare still had him in its grip like an imp that wouldn't release its victim once it was latched on, but it felt too real in every sense. It ramified like river's delta into grief, fear and despair, making Stan believe he had never felt worse in his life, and that he'd never be happy again.

A sound and a slight movement in darkness made him look up with a startled gasp. His heart skipped a beat when the shadows of the nearest corner moved, and then parted to reveal a figure clad in silver, a pale oversized head burning orange and kind blue eyes observing him from above. Stan's face smoothed out, eyes glistening with recognition and the room was suddenly much less cold. Pennywise didn't need a verbal invitation. Within moments, he was already kneeling at the bed's side with the child's arms wrapped around his neck, face hidden in the safety of the familiar ruffles.

The clown waited patiently, flicking a finger effortlessly along the way to perish the vomit, letting Stan's sobs thin out before asking in a hushed voice: ˮWhat's the matter?"

Stan sniffed, trying to catch a breath and lifting his head to dig his chin into the broad shoulder, fresh tears spilling over. Deep inside, however, there was no telling how grateful he was hearing somebody else's voice, much less directed at his own well being.

„They... they got me", he managed between the hiccups. ˮHe- he made me... he put his... he shoved it down my throat... he... I don't..." Whether his mouth wouldn't form words, his brain surely rewound the horrid images of two crackheads that wouldn't let him sleep for days now. ˮAnd you... y-you weren't th-there. You _left_ me. You left... Pennywise...", the name was squeezed out through clenched teeth as fresh tears descended from Stan's fatigued eyes, desperately begging for help.

How angry the clown was in that moment was unfathomable to human knowledge, and he would be gladly obliged to vomit the subjects out and finish them off again in ways so dire their own souls would never find peace, but he kept his face and eyes comfortably consoling as he pried Stanley's grip off him as gently as possible so that he could see his exhausted face.

„I never left", the clown chittered sadly, buckteeth hooked below his lower lip in woebegone expression, Stan's radiating agony jabbing at his senses. „I-I would never leave you... I p-promised, I _did_. Please, don't cry. You're m-making me sad, too."

Stan observed Penny's face, crestfallen as his own, wearing a pained countenance, like the clown was the subject of dire molesting, and not him. Still, it didn't help ease the burning toxic ache that took refuge in both his mind and body. „But it hurts..." he whispered, more tears spilling over. ˮIt hurts so much... I can't- t-take it anymore. I want it to stop. Please..." he gripped the huge gloved hands that came to hold the sides of his face with all quavering strength he had left. ˮPlease... make it stop."

Pennywise gave a soft chirrup when Stanley dove back against his shoulder, a noise gladly welcome in the boy's ears, counterpointing from the chaos in his head which indeed hurt even more than his injured leg. Pennywise felt nauseating constriction in his throat that descended down to his stomach and clenched him like a death grip. It was unnerving how the air of the other Losers could so easily affect him, but if it wasn't the part of the creature's nature, then nothing was.

Stan felt like he was stuck walking through a heavy swamp, unable to persist against the stuffy air any further and feeling life drench out of his person like water from an old rug. The stench and vacancy of the room didn't contribute in the least, and he couldn't have been more convinced in that moment that the whole world went against him. He could vaguely register one of the clown's enormous hands laying against the back of his curls, barely paying it any mind and simply settling down with the fact that he was no longer alone. For now, that would do.

Until pure relief followed the sensation of the boy's muscles relaxing and the spiny air of angst diluting like spring water, all of a sudden, though gradually, it could be felt shifting, and heaviness was gone just like that. The nightmare remnants that had to have been forcefully kept at bay until now were gone in a two-seconds-long instant, whirling in a vortex of defeat whose source Stan faintly determined coming from the palm against his head. It was almost impossible to his rational brain, hitting him in common sense like... well, magic.

Breathing now harmonized with Penny's own, Stan leaned back, exhaustion still coating his dark eyes, but with no trace of previous pain. If there was a slight sprinkle of confusion in them, the clown-looking entity was proud to notice it. ˮWha..." the words were a breath. ˮWhat did you do?"

Pennywise smiled sweetly, front teeth showing. ˮI fixed it", he repeated what he had once said, and it seemed like ages have rolled by since. ˮI made it better. So you don't have to worry anymore."

Stan looked like he was going to say something, but lacked energy to do so, and Penny's spark did its part. The boy blinked slowly, completely serene, unflustered and _relieved_ , making a soft smile of his own slowly blossom on his face; it was small and tired, but spoke volumes of gratitude. His mind felt light, somnolent, but at long last, finally undisturbed, and a silent laugh escaped him before he could put his emotions in a somewhat conceivable order.

It took him another second to realize that. However, the clown was instantly hit by the change in his behavior, unhesitatingly leaning in to nuzzle Stan in the face, satisfied to no ends when he emitted a heartfelt giggle from the child, and it made the creature purr candidly even more so when he reached out to pet his fiery hair back. Stanley knew the clown had no sense of personal space, but he was long past the point of caring by now, and was instantly greeted with brilliant blue eyes mere inches from his own, which he just now realized were impossible to express nothing but inquisitive and lively; somewhere in there burying an insatiable care for the lot of Losers. Stan's chest constricted again, but for a different reason entirely.

„Thanks, Cheetah."

Penny backed away, feeling Stan's words reach far deeper than what he had just done. A single look into his chocolate brown eyes filled with warmth was enough to confirm it, and Pennywise returned the dimpled smile he was given, flexing the lines along his cheeks he was just newly proclaimed by. Even though the word by itself made no sense to the clown, he would now forever link it to Stan, as another one on the long list of Losers' nicknames.

The rest of the night saw Stan peacefully asleep, no longer wary of the shadows of the sleep, breathing rhythmical and slow in the solitary room. Only, he was no longer alone. There was a monster under his bed, but with a sole purpose of protecting the boy from the real monsters of the outside world.


	13. The price of sleep (BTS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Bill and Jackson

It was late for his standards. Or rather, what his mom thought they were, but Jackson didn't feel a shade of the respective fatigue that would've overcome him already, and sticking around his trailer was too off-putting. The youngster couldn't tell why. Everything was off-putting these days. Not because of that ridiculous clown. It was just a makeup, and Jackson had rarely even given it a second thought, only having to pat himself for courage a little during his first encounter with fully dolled up Skarsgård, but other than that, it didn't bother him.

So what was it?

The more he thought about it, the more awake he was, and with fatigue and faint insomnia intertwining, so grew frustration and the young star found himself marching over the wet lawn, catching cheery sounds of fun and the youthful group laughter coming from Wyatt's trailer. There was a talk about sleepover, but then again, no one from the 'Losers' group ever slept in their own trailers. Jackson would've joined them, and none of them would mind his company, that was for sure, but tonight he just didn't felt like being around them. Moreover, he felt like he would've spoiled their fun with his despondent self.

Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him towards another trailer on their own. He didn't dare ask himself what he was doing until he was already inside, feeling a faint smell of deodorant and lilac shampoo, a familiar scent his brain had learned to link with his new costar, who was right ahead, tangled in thin blankets on a fair-sized bed for a space this small, steady rising and falling of the covers the only indicator he was alive.

The boy would've run forward and scrambled up next to him, but Bill wasn't his mom, or dad or any relative. He was a friend. So he swallowed thickly. ˮBill?"

His voice was restrained and cracking without him meaning to, barely louder than a whisper, and for a second he felt ashamed and hoped Bill hadn't heard him. But then a deep sigh came from the still body on the bed that moved and Jackson could only now distinguish head from his feet as the tall Swede stretched with a groan. One green eye opened. The unsaid question was readable in them.

Jackson lowered his head, hooking his fingers together which were suddenly more interesting than anything else. ˮCan't sleep", he mumbled, voice still tiny, but he couldn't bring it up in this overly quiet atmosphere. The boy's mind swirled with negative pictures of Bill flipping him off and telling him to get lost or go bother somebody else while he was having his goodnight sleep, even as it was this early. Jackson was practically with one foot out of the trailer, composing an apology for the older actor once they saw each other again, and hope friendship between them doesn't remain too embarrassing.

But Bill reached out a long-fingered arm with a faint nasal sound, wordlessly inviting the boy over and it took Jackson a second to realize he wasn't being rejected. The arm didn't move until the boy was nested safely between blankets against the broad chest at which point it encircled the boy and drew him in.

As Jackson settled, Bill immediately felt warmer against the cold night outside, untypical for this time of summer. At the boy's mumbled thanks, he started rubbing circles on his back, feeling the jittery nerves soothe. The sequence wasn't unfamiliar with the young Swede, as he often had Ossian pay him visits in wee hours to seek comfort from abhorrent nightmares in the safe embrace of his big brother. Bill's little friend was a bit older, but emitting same waves of discomfort, although indistinct. Jackson's little mind was working full steam, but Bill couldn't exactly tell why.

„What's wrong, little man?" he asked, voice hoarse from being held back for some time, head propped against the fist. He stared down at the brown-haired scalp where Jackson was fiddling with the blanket, still calculating. Bill was tired as hell, but not enough to leave this hang. If the kid falls asleep — his back rubs never stopped — that's fine, he'll ask him in the morning. It was just that Jackson had no plans drifting off, and Bill felt he needed to talk and hear some words in return in order to get even remotely closer to comforts of sleep.

The boy frowned, fingers as busy as his head. Yet for all the turmoil, he only said, ˮI don't know."

„Bad dream?"

Jackson shook his head, an awkward action while laying sideways in bed, but he paid it no mind. ˮI can't sleep. I can't _fall_ asleep."

„You can't or you don't want to?"

The fingers stopped and quiet shuffling of the blankets disappeared like a whisk of wind from an enclosing fist, and Bill knew he hit the bull's eye. Still, he let the boy find his time to answer.

„Both", Jackson's voice was tiny and insecure, like he was still trying to figure himself out. ˮI think..." he licked his lips. ˮI think it's just... everything is still new, and... home is so far."

Bill nodded like he expected it to be said. ˮBeing far from home can be scary, I agree." He paused. ˮI mean, when I first flew over the Pond on my own, I was petrified. There were no brothers or parents to get my back like they always did. It's a difficult thing, being alone in a new world", he gave a soft smile. ˮBut you know something? There's no better feeling than when you first pull it through. You'll see when you get back among old friends and tell 'em all about how you kept your cool walking on independent track a bit", _sort of_ , ˮwithout mom having to tell you what to do and where to go, and before you know it, you'll have more maturity in your little finger than most scamps your age."

Jackson gave him the sweetest smile at that, almost staring in awe at his tall friend and he remembered the first day they met. How Bill was peeking from inside the storm drain, makeover and costume gracing him in almost eldritch way, but then he would smile at him between the takes, telling him how brave and awesome he was, and it suddenly seemed like he was the most human in the world.

Encouraged by the look on his face, Bill went on; ˮYou know, my older brother Gustaf told me something really helpful once. He said, _'Don't ever force yourself to fall asleep, because that's never going to work.'_ Falling asleep is basically our brain knocking itself unconscious, and technically you can't do that on purpose, can you?" Jackson scoffed at this absurdity, and Bill smiled along. ˮThe point is to let your thoughts ease. Focus on breathing. Listen to it." 

Big brown eyes gazed back at him, looking at Bill like he's the wisest person in the world. ˮBut you don't sleep", he stated, and to Bill it was like he hit him with a baseball bat. It surely didn't take a mastermind to realize that, with bags under his eyes and a slight slouch in his bearing being distinctive enough, but little could he do to help it. Pennywise had dug so deep into him, that he wouldn't leave even when the costume was off. It was like Bill had installed a ghost inside him that he couldn't erase so easily, and wouldn't be able to, he was certain, for a long time after the filming was over.

He sighed. ˮYou're right, I don't. But it's a little difficult when you go to bed still half in character and Pennywise starts intervening with your sleep."

Dark eyes perked up. ˮYou dream about him?"

„Yes", Bill nodded. ˮEvery night he comes and visits. Sometimes he's there for just a flash, and other times he's in full effect. Sometimes I'm even him. And you don't wanna hear what I do then."

Jackson gave him a wry smile. ˮGo to a restaurant where they serve little children?"

Bill wheezed a sincere laugh for the first time that day. This kid will go places. ˮDon't worry about me, kiddo", he said at last, laying fully back on the pillow. ˮI'll be fine. You just take care of your smart little head. Sleep is important."

Jackson nodded and settled into a more comfortable position while Bill's words settled into his head and the Swede's voice became a faint _basso continuo_ swirling comfortably around his mind. It didn't take long for exhaustion to get a firm hold of him. He could feel his limbs growing heavier, head going lighter and before he knew it, the boy was soon cradled in the arms of sleep, breathing deep and rhythmical.

Bill lay for a few more moments, thoughts circulating among his solitary brain cells. Silence that would usually steal all comforts of the night was bored through by Jackson's presence, and the young man felt inexplicably more at ease. It wasn't that he had a problem being alone before, but perhaps much appreciated presence of his little friend was enough to remind him that things weren't as he thought, not even about himself. Be that as it may, Bill could feel his ever-stiff muscles relax and Jackson's deep breathing rhythm steadying his own, one of his arms draped loosely over the boy who was huddled against his chest like a sleeping puppy.

Some way, somehow, Pennywise never came to him that night.


	14. Love at first barfight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Hitman's Bodyguard" helped :3

Never before had any of them been this concerned. Richie's comment about Bowers gang finally laying their hands on their homeschooled friend had earned him a fair slap from Beverly, who was the least likely to lose her nerve, but by now she could already feel the ground slip.

„Can't somebody go check? You know where he lives, right Stan?"

Stan's eyes were squinted against the afternoon sun, but the look he directed at the girl was clear nonetheless, the one he'd normally save reserved for outbursts of Richie's stupidity. ˮI also know how to value my own life. I'm not getting _near_ his grandfather, that dude is scary! If you're feeling suicidal..."

She was already rolling her eyes at the Jewish boy's progressing jabbering, recalling the mantra about the cowardice of men, but held back from commenting. After all, she had to have known the best what a scary parent looks like, and the boys didn't need to hear that now. Not when Mike hasn't been heard from in three days. Ben had tried phoning him, but ended up dropping the handset and bolting the hell out of the house like the yells of Mike's grandfather would detonate from the speaker and pursue him with a chainsaw. No one tried the phone method after that.

Pennywise didn't see any issues, since he could literatim feel the presence of every living mind that existed in Derry from just delivered infants in Derry General Hospital, to the old rusty hags sitting in armchairs bitten by time and waiting for death's blessing arms. He could feel Mike's blatant presence just as clear, though he didn't see a particular use of explaining it to his ephemeral friends. However, the clown only genuinely became concerned when he popped up right in front of Mike's face, intending to give him a fair fright, and the boy barely flickered his eyes up at him.

The clown pulled a face at him and if it were anyone else, Mike would've deduced it insulting. The boy was seated on a log in the middle of the barley field, the disregarded garden hoe at his feet indicating he had work to do he had so uncharacteristically turned a blind eye to. A floppy hat crowned his head on this hot day, and a black-eyed susan was twiddled between his fingers.

Pennywise, frustrated at an unsuccessful scare as well as Mike playing a ghost for the past couple of days, let a frown be plastered on his face that would've made him look intimidating had it been intended for anybody else, but to any of the Losers, it wasn't an unusual drill. ˮ _Where have you been?!_ " the tone of pure insult in clown's voice was almost comical, and perhaps, if Mike was collected enough, he would've found it funny.

Like this, the only thing the homeschooled boy could've managed was, ˮUh... hello to you to."

„The others are worRIEd SiCk! Do you have _AnY_ idea how many meetings you missed?" Pennywise kept his storm-raging scolding, bent in waist so he could loom over the sitting figure, believing his own personal circumstances to be more important than what currently occupied the pensive boy, but by the time his senseless ravaging rant screeched to a stop it became clear Mike was left nonplussed.

„...I'm fine, thank you."

With a huff, the being dropped down to its knees and Pennywise found himself cursing his own height for once, given how often he had to preform this action just to get these little buggers to pay attention. Facing the boy straight in the eye, no more than half a head gap between them, he grabbed the suspenders of his overalls, feeling frustration mix with bitter offense at this negligence. ˮTalk."

This, however, left the young boy startled. Mostly because the clown usually kept to the combination of his moping and childish self, the stat that didn't change day after day. Seeing his big friend this head-on made him realize he wasn't going to get out of this as easily as he went around his grandfather (barely).

So he gave in with a soft sigh, mirroring the bright blue eyes diverging from his own like a _contrapunctus_ in a fugue. ˮI would appreciate if what I'm about to tell you stays between us two, otherwise I'm never going to hear the end of it."

Even as there were only the two of them, Mike kept his voice low, as if expecting Richie or Eddie jump from behind the nearest undergrowth, ready to store what he was about to confess in a memory box and then unleash it in front of the whole Loser's club for the members to taunt. Penny didn't say anything, just watched with ever-expectancy, and the Hanlon boy knew he was either going to keep his mouth shut, or join the mocking. And honestly, by now it was all the same to him; he was done hiding either way.

So he began: ˮWe were out in the _Left Hook_. You know... that infamous bar down west in the countryside where nobody gives a brick about anything. My grandfather was out like a light. _The Eagles_ lost the match again, fourth year in a row. I didn't even try stressing out. Just had a lot of other stuff on my mind", Mike gave a soft laugh through his nose. ˮWell... 'till I saw _her_."

Pennywise waited, looking back like a small child hearing the new bedtime story for the first time. If he had known humans on this area better, especially young teens like Mike, he would've surely predicted where this monologue was going. In the meantime, Mike went on, eyes fixated on something only he could see.

„There she was, with her firm opinion and strong stance, harassed by some white dudes, regarding the game, or her gender or skin color... I didn't hear. Didn't care, either.

I get up to help her, 'cause, you know... it's the right thing to do — when she unleashed the most amazing display of violence and beauty... I have ever seen", a grin danced on Mike's face as his words slowed down to a stop like an old, rusty locomotive with no sense of direction. His gaze wouldn't leave the empty space somewhere in between reality and a salacious memory as the boy revived the events of several nights ago with a lost, lopsided smile plastered on his face.

„She kicked those guys' asses better than Bruce Lee, using nothing but stools and broken beer bottles, but with such a grace that all angels out there would be jealous of that skill. There was probably more blood than I've ever seen in my life, but to hell if I cared. The end of the fucking world could've happened", Mike twisted his lips downwards thoughtfully. ˮI don't think I would have noticed."

„We slow danced all night", Mike's smile dropped abruptly, akin to a poorly-tightened sleeping sack. ˮUntil she had to go back to Kansas. And I don't think I'll ever see her again."

The homeschooled remained floating a little melancholically in the memories that were, in all likelihood, going to perish one day, but the clown wasn't reasonable about it. For several moments, he seemed confused, blinking several times, assessing what he had just heard, and _if_ he heard it correctly. It often happened that things those kids said made no sense to him, but he would ascribe it to them and their personal problems. However within a second, exasperation twisted his face into another deep frown, and shaded his eyes a faint yellow. ˮWhat?! ThAT's YoUR exCusE? You juST mAde that up, you _lIAR_. Get a hold of yoURSeLf, Mike, or I'll get a hold oF YOu. _Do you hear me?-_ "

To Georgie, maybe, or anyone else, his melodramatic behavior would induce _some_ form of guilt, probably to the conclusion where the tacky clown would get what he wanted and they would both end up satisfied, but to Mike in love...? Pennywise realized he was completely helpless only when Mike leaned his head against an open palm with a pensive sigh, gaze pointed, again, at something only he could see, and that _wasn't_ an agitated clown, and throughout the ordeal, Pen found himself agreeing; the Armageddon could've fallen upon the Earth — Mike wouldn't have batted an eyelash.

  
  


„And? Is he alive? Why didn't he call? Is he hospitalized? Is he in the coffin already?"

It was difficult to think straight when you were bombarded with questions like Pennywise was right now, nearly cornered by the surrounding gang of babbling kids, and he _did_ have to think. Feeling resentful or not, the clown was going to keep to his word. He felt that the truth wouldn't do Mike any justice, even as it meant him being left unsatisfied. Besides, that's what friends do, right? And Mike was a friend.

„He's alive", he confirmed, when the chorus had quieted down a bit.

„And?" Richie left the word hang, implying expectancy with hand gestures. For all the world knew, he could probably barely wait the opportunity for a hot gossip.

Pen blinked, eyes rolling to the ceiling. ˮHe's busy."

„Doing what, running _Guns Galore_? Spit it out, genius! When's he coming back?"

„Leave him alone, Eddie", Beverly smacked his arm when Pennywise started to give off the vibe like he was going to explode. ˮHe's alive and well, that's all we have to know. The rest is his business. When you see him again, you'll ask him."

Once again, her statement worked like a charm, despite Eddie having to grumble a little about it. It always seemed to hit the boys in the reason that obviously wouldn't start working on its own. They dropped it and the rest of their time spent playing forehead detective, visibly more at ease after hearing that their friend was alright. Still, the girl let boys disperse when it was time to leave before walking up to their tall mascot with a small crooked smile, backpack hanging freely off a single shoulder. ˮHe's not busy, is he?"

Pen crumbled uneasily like a rickety tower of porcelain dishes, one gloved hand going up to hook between his rabbit teeth as his eyes for once pointed in the same direction, surveying the floor. His bearing had slackened, and Beverly needed nothing else to know. She could spot a liar from five hundred meters away, not knowing if it was a woman's intuition, or were men just suckers at concealing emotions. Well, technically, this big dumb couldn't be sorted into neither category.

Bev giggled either way. ˮHey", she pulled the surprised clown down by the chin, ignoring the remnants of saliva that smeared across her fingers, pinning her eyes against his; two brilliant blue colors engaged in war. ˮYou don't have to say anything. I think I know", at the face he made at her — half contrite, half pleading, as best as he could — she grinned wholeheartedly. ˮDon't worry. I ain't telling those ninnies a thing. What would they know about it, anyway?"

„About what?"

It bepuzzled her a little, because the confusion in Penny's eyes was absolutely sincere, but no less than two seconds later, she was bent over, trying to catch her breath while bombs of laughter ricocheted off her person, only further startling the mazed clown.

„Bevvie?"

„You- you're hopeless", she barely managed. „He's in _love_ , silly."

„What?"

„You know, I kinda thought about it a lot", Beverly said after a second, adjusting her backpack over both shoulders and the look she gave the _ridiculously_ baffled clown was almost filled with awe. ˮYou're older than Earth and you still don't know _shit_ about it."


	15. Silent grace

It was already getting hot.

The smell of gasoline had hit Pennywise's olfactory senses already, but only when it met fire had it been registered in his head. The only reason for this belated reaction was because other senses attacked his mind, and pain receptors flared to life in places he had thought impossible. It perhaps wouldn't have caused him this much physical pain had it not been for the fact that his year had run out. The bits detaching from his artificial body like chinaware debris and slowly floating off in the air spoke for themselves: from his gloved hands with limp fingers hanging a few inches above the floorboards, his lips drained of color still dripping black substance, dirtying the dusty floorboards, the edges of his head, the multiple bullet holes that drilled his facade like a stuffed dummy and the bigger ones coming from two wide iron poles impaled through his abdomen and though the floorboards, pinning him down on his knees and making the breathing process so painful that he had completely ceased preforming it.

It was tired. In Its whole ever-existence It couldn't remember being this tired. The preceding fight was just a distraction It couldn't hope to win. Not this time. All these wasted moments and it had only now hit It — why now? Why only now, when there was so much time to think it through before? Why had It only noticed now? It could do many things, terrible and wonderful things, but rewinding time wasn't one of them.

The shouts echoing from top floors indicating the job was done distracted It from sounds of heavy footsteps approaching from the side. Therefore, another impact equivalent to the previous two pierced though the clown body with so much force that it slung him down on his palms with a sharp, choking gag and another, violent outburst of his physical substance floating away. Black ooze came flowing down his lips in another violent wave, and pain clenched and unclenched the man-shaped beast's abdominal muscles against its will, providing it with waves and waves of hot, steaming pain, like the body It had possessed for so long brought forward a conspiracy that had been forging within for ages.

_Three._

Through animalistic wheezes providing the only sound in the vestibule, there was a faint background sound coming from above whose beginning couldn't have been determined. It came out of nowhere, but was very much distinctive, and very much alive. The man beside It knelt, lowering his face to shove it mockingly close to the downed beast's, knowing above well he was out of the range of perilous. Butch Bowers' face was lined with sweat, sick malice and cold victory, barely legible in emotionless eyes, ones It had long dreamed of digging out and devouring before man itself, slurping deliberately for the man to hear every decibel.

„Here's the thing", Butch's hoarse voice cut through Its apparition like a swift, sharp knife. ˮI want you to know something. And I want it to be the last sane realization you grasp."

The tumbling of the steps around them and final discharging of petrol tanks were lost to the pair who seemed separated in their own universum; a vivarium of silent, blank and already dead. A combination of something incoherent swarmed in Its brain, and It gripped to it firmly as the final resort of endurance in this material world for just a little longer. However painful it was.

„You were wrong if you thought for a second you held any strings in this game", Bowers had said without a trace of emotion in his voice. ˮI don't care what you are, I don't care what you've been doing, or _who_ you've been doing. This town, these residents, they belong to me. And if I think they have no right to be here, I'll have them removed. And you..." he reached over to poke at the smeared painted temple which crumbled and broke away, drifting up slowly like reversed snowflakes and Butch's gaze followed with zero interest. 

„Your strings _did_ reach a little deeper, but in the end... everything comes to a close", a humorless smirk tugged at his lips. ˮJust like fucking Hanlons..."

The kneeling being faintly remarked a call bearing Bowers' title and heat increasing. Its gaze, now lifted, barely containing any life left, was focused out the wide open door of the 29 Neibolt. Pinned against a small figure, screaming his friend's name and kicking with all might in the rigid, merciless grip of the three officers, reaching out towards the house, towards It. Towards the most sincere friend the little boy had ever had. Bill could've been seen a bit farther, fighting to get to his younger brother, face laced with tears, but was pulled back in equally violent fashion. And the sight hurt more than this detesting heat sinking beneath the leftovers of his skin.

_Georgie._

When Pennywise tried verbalizing the thought, it only came in a splutter of more blackness. The eyes watching the buckling, tortured boy being carried away from the burning building had no color left in them; no angry gold or friendly blue; just a bleak, barren pale, even more colorless than the torn, falling-apart suit. There was nothing left in them; not even desperation. The excessive presences in the house were already gone as fire begun its too fast, devouring rampage over the bottom floor.

Drifting into nonexistence, not unlike any other pre-hibernation process he had experienced before, Pennywise found himself asking what would've been more painful. The thing he was experiencing now, or having to tell the eight of his most favorite beings in the universe a bitter truth about a long wanted sleep; a sleep which he had been calling off over and over and over again until he crushed under the exhaustion of wakefulness, and even worse — having them know that by the next time he woke up, he would be forgotten, disregarded, left behind whilst they have moved on. The future with no Losers, no smiles and jokes and problems and tears, was inconceivable. An empty life. Unworthy of existing.

Pennywise hung the remnants of his head while the structure of his home fell apart, board after board, a bit of soul after bit. And what was once a refuge, swallowed him in an eternal prison of fire and cold.


	16. Pennywise vs. the lemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cats vs. cucumbers, dogs vs. Lemons, Pennywise vs... well, both.

Had anyone been in a circumstance to pass by the ol' 29 Neibolt well-house, you bet they would've been more than a little baffled. Above all, it was the most spine-tingling sight within miles around the neighborhood, radiating undoubted chills beyond its appearance and any frequent passerby would rather search for the nearest detour, pronto.

Which is why the street was usually empty.

Which is why nobody heard a rumble of laughter equivalent to a defiant avalanche which had no intention of stopping. The loudest and the most conspicuous, but certainly not overpowered belonged to Georgie. The little Denbrough was on his back, shrieking in his instability to hold back, even as this had been going on for hours now.

Eddie was clutching the inhaler, but every time he would bring it up to squeeze some air into him, he'd explode right back into a fit, surprising himself when he was totally convinced he hadn't had any air left. Nevertheless, if he suffocated right now, he wouldn't have regretted it - is there a better death than to die laughing?

The rest were in more or less same boat, scattered around the floor in various positions, long ago losing the ability to stand, whilst Richie thought slamming his hand repeatedly on the floor would do him any good.

„Watch, watch, watch, watch", Ben squeaked rapidly before taking in a blessing amount of air he knew he would need the very next second. ˮHe's gonna do it again."

„Why—ˮ Nothing else left Bev's lips as the room detonated once more when Pennywise backed away again, shaking his head vigorously and convulsing with a scrunched up face, an absurd amount of incontinent saliva coating his collar and face, and the mess was excused this time. It was literally everywhere, which is why the Losers mutually reasoned to keep a bigger distance than they would usually put between their eccentric companion and themselves; the radius Penny's ammo was covering wasn't as small as one would expect.

Who knew such a small thing could throw a millennia-old beast such as this one into an episode of manic frenzy.

When Georgie first came presenting an idea, everybody expected it to be just a one-off. Nobody expected it to last whole afternoon and still be as funny as Pen's first reaction: the clown attempted a single experimental bite at the yellow slice and immediately went ballistic. He gave an inhuman yelp, beat his hands against the floor where he sat like it was the one that caused him an acidic discomfort, crab-walked backwards with insane speed until he hit the wall where he proceeded to rub his face against the floorboards in a desperate attempt to get rid of the taste. However instead of accusing them all right then and there when their laughing (screaming) session began and pointing fingers, the big dumb actually crawled back, had a two-second staring contest with the fruit and after a few logic-defying gimcrackeries dove in again, with similar results.

Now there was probably more drool than juice left in the demonic fruit, but Pennywise was not giving up at whatever he was trying to do.

„S-someone take that thing away from him", Eddie wheezed, face turning a dangerous shade of purple from where it was now stuck at red as a beetroot. ˮI'm- - I'm gonna die."

„Hell no, I ain't sticking my fingers in that spit-pool", Richie managed in one breath. „Cover your eyes, dumbass."

Eddie did no such thing, not really wanting to miss a thing as Pennywise continued to make feral gestures and absurd noises, jolting around on the floor and intentionally or unintentionally missing the target when he slammed that paw of a hand inches away. The frustration written all across his face was probably the funniest thing of all.

Mike was clutching his stomach which threatened to burst back through his spine, but when he managed to find his voice, he realized he was far from that. „Next time- give him a kiwi."


	17. He's got him (BTS)

„It's okay, I've got you."

For the umpteenth time had those five words been repeated, but just for the safety's sake. Bill didn't think anything particularly bad could've happened if Jackson _did_ fall off his feet, except ruining his makeup or crooking his nose, but for the boy's sake, and his sweet squeals as he tried to find balance on the soles of his feet, he kept on speaking.

Jackson wobbled dangerously, but Bill kept his wrists in a secure, but gentle grip, following the boy's movements with his muscles so he wouldn't end up on the floor. After all, Bill was three times taller than him. Nevertheless the possible repercussions, he returned the sweet smile he was given wholeheartedly. ˮI got you. I got you, don't be scared."

„I'm not", the boy giggled, gripping Bill's ruffled sleeves, eyes full of sincere trust.

„Okay", Bill restored calm balance, calculating the kid's weight and steadying both of them as his grip on Jackson began to waver and slacken. ˮLet go- - Let go-"

Another squeal mixed with a giggle emerged out of the boy's mouth, prompting Bill to speak again. ˮIt's alright, no fear. You're here, I won't let you fall. I've got you. Let go."

Hitching the last part on replay, Bill slowly, slowly released the grip fully, allowing his gloved hands to brush past Jackson's wrists to give him one last sense of security before the kid gradually eased into spreading his arms to cover more space. The whole structure of laying Pennywise and Georgie, well, ''floating'' up on his risen feet was tottering with instability, but the edge of balance was here, and it was met with a couple of lame cheery 'yaaay'-s of the surrounding spectators.

Jackson giggled in delight again, feeling like he was on the top of the world with arms spread apart and legs shot outwards, but really, he looked like he was parachuting. He looked down at his tall friend and cackled joyfully. ˮYou look funny from up here."

In response, Bill pulled a face making the kid shriek with another round of laughter. Consequently, that also meant he threw the steadiness over his shoulder, and soon the shriek repeated, this time filled with playful panic as he slid down Bill's cheesy clown shoes towards his clowned-up face.

Gifted with quick reflexes and a big heart that made him keep to his word, Bill caught the little guy by the armpits as soon as gravity got a hold of him, securing him from faceplanting his own face and causing an exhausting, hours-long-to-repair damage. Both giggled along with the audience as Bill lowered his legs, feeling the abdominal muscles ease.

„You got me", Jackson grinned from where he ended up seated on Bill's lap. Bill sat up, bowing his head forward to boop the little nose with his own, extracting more of the boy's giggles, never losing a grin of his own.

„Told ya."


	18. Meet Bob Gray

Pennywise stooped down to get on eye level with Richie, who still barely reached above his elbow, observing his grumpy face. He could never be sure, but it wasn't as if he was the cause. He couldn't have done something wrong in full five seconds the boys were in his well-house. ˮWhat are you up to?"

Richie was too busy sulking like a child to respond, so Eddie did it for him. ˮTell him he can't go."

„Go where?"

„In _Smitten Kitten._ "

„The what?" Pennywise's bewildered face was on like a snapped firecracker, eyes diverging even more so. _He wants to go into a kitten?_ he wanted to ask instead but would've doubtlessly been ridiculed, so he quickly settled for a better alternative. Either he heard it wrong, or it was some kind of a human product he was completely oblivious about.

„It's a sex shop", Eddie explained.

Sort of.

„Eugh", Penny stuck out his tongue for emphasis.

„You read my mind", Ben served them an eye-roll, seated at the Neibolt's dusty table, dragging his finger across the table to see the trail of dust create a line. The day was cloudy, and the mood wasn't something. Probably why half of the group weren't here, so Pen's visitors for the day consisted of Ben, Eddie, Richie and Stan.

„I'm out of magazines", Richie argued, once again rounded on. ˮAnd I had to throw the old ones when mom started sniffing around my room. What would you do if you were in my shoes?"

„I'm not in your shoes", Eddie retorted. ˮAnd _you_ need to take those shoes _off_."

„You're so dying a virgin."

Knowing the bickering that follows, which was slowly starting to form a gradual _crescendo_ , and having no will to see it progress, Pen turned to the next closest party in search for more answers. ˮCan't he buy magazines in a store?"

Stan shook his head, but a smile was there in his chestnut dark eyes. ˮNot in this one, no."

„So what is it?"

The Jewish boy shrugged, looking like he was only here to take a break from his stormy household and capture some peace and quiet. ˮHe can't go without an adult."

If the way Pennywise's eyes moved even further apart wasn't the sign of gears in that gigantic head turning, his parted lips and a string of saliva escaping surely was, but instead of stepping back in disgust like he would've before, Stan grinned openly now, leaning over and reaching to pat the clown on his cheek. ˮHey. Cut it out." The silly expression that made the boy chuckle was sparsed by Pen shaking his head a little to regain composure and direct his complete attention at Stanley. ˮDon't bother yourself, Cheetah. Richie's been hopeless long before you met him."

Pennywise blinked and smiled in acknowledgment, but as soon as Stan went to join Ben, he turned to the brawling pair quicker than the wind. ˮI can hElp you with that!", his voice was full of enthusiasm, probably the reason why the quick-paced words dispelled and two heads slowly turned in his direction. Awkward or not (he probably had no concept of things like that, either), Pennywise was always there to help, a heartful smile adorning his painted face, oblivious to the annoyed expressions he was dealing with.

„I don't think you get it, Dingles", Richie was still fresh from mouth-trashing, pointing the cannon at the new target. ˮI need an adult to get there. You can't be seen", he brought his hand up to emphasize what he meant, like one would with a little child.

„OhHH, I didn't say I won't be seen."

This gathered the attention of all four boys, and Pennywise beamed at it while it lasted, which was only broken by Eddie's scoff.

„You can't be serious", the germaphobe had said, though not entirely unconvinced. If Pennywise meant something, he meant it, and for someone his age, he tended to take things way too literally. Metaphors went over his head. Literally. ˮNone of us is going out with you dressed like that."

„ _Wehehehelll..._ ", the Loser club mascot shook only just to allow the bells to chime. The grin that was stretched across his face looked too cunning for comfort. ˮI didn't say I was going like this, either."

„Alright, spill the beans, genius, what's your plan?" Richie's mood was apparently wrecked enough so that humor had slipped away from its cage for a day, but no doubt he's gonna be back to his old self by the next morning, so the half-club tried to enjoy the peace while it lasted. While others might get worried regarding the look on the clown's face, his sulking wouldn't settle until he got what he wanted.

Really, what was the difference between Pennywise and Richie?

Surprising them yet again, Pen held out a finger and circled it around lightly. ˮTurn around."

„What?"

„Turn around", he repeated verbatim, an eye drifting off to the boys seated at the table. ˮClose your eyes."

The Tozier and the Kaspbrak squinted, untouched by this odd request, recognizing safely they were on thin ice. ˮLast time you asked us not to look, you tied our shoelaces together and pushed one of us down the hill", Eddie recalled coldly. Ben's snort was ignored.

„Do you want my help or not?"

The question was, of course, meant for Richie who was, thanks to his temerarious, impulsive personality, squeezed into a corner. He still squinted, eyes equally ridiculously enlarged behind the thick lenses. Giving in to the weirdo would mean a thousand scenarios case, not necessarily having a good outcome. Or he could play safe in which instance _not_ doing as he says would leave him standing where he was. Empty handed. In any case, he was probably not going to have a good time tonight.

Might as well make someone else's day.

With a relenting sigh, which promised more brawling later, Richie obliged and turned around, elbowing Eddie to do the same. The smaller boy seemed surprised his friend had done what he was told for once, but followed the action, throwing one final, warning glance at the tall being. ˮJust don't drool on my head."

In position, Richie prayed the rest of the club don't burst in on the scene. With him and Eddie covering their eyes akin to playing hide-and-seek, and Stan and Ben sporting a legitimate picture of sleeping in class, there was enough mocking material to last until they were set in coffins. They were probably getting pranked, anyway. For better or worse, Pennywise wasn't Henry Bowers, and nobody's gonna die.

Hopefully.

Richie found himself asking were playboy magazines worth the fuss. And why the hell, of all places, had he come to _Neibolt house_ for advice. He must've been completely desperate. There were faint sounds coming from behind them, shuffles and slight tinkles, curious tingling feeling in the air, too; a common occurrence which meant that their big friend was morphing. Weird, he just realized it now. How they never got to see the said process. It was always either this or that — mostly just the big, dumb clown — but never in between.

He _could_... just a little... sneak a peek without the big guy knowing... but the puny rational part of his brain pulled the reins with all its might; the decision might steer him to being left mentally scarred for the rest of his life, and chronic trauma wasn't something he counted on in his life line. This mental brake only flared him up further. ˮAre you done yet? Should I expect a giant Big Bird when I turn around?"

„Thought you already had one at home", a mumble could be heard, and two chuckles backed him up.

„Zip it, Stanley."

„ _All doNE!_ " The merry voice was unchanged, but the boys knew better by now, that it didn't guarantee his looks weren't unreasonably altered in the wrong direction.

One would expect extra carefulness when Pennywise has any ideas, but with a sigh, unimpressed expressions all over their faces, Richie and Eddie unhesitatingly turned around, wanting to get it over with.

What they were met with wasn't what they expected. Not even close.

Shaking out his shoulders, sunbeams theatrically pouring down over him from the opposite window and coating him with majestic grace, missing only the slow motion to complete the experience, before the kids stood a young man. In a word, handsome. In more than one word, it was the reason he had four boys stiff as statues, stroke senseless, knees buckling and breaths choked. He was about the clown's size, looming over them effortlessly, no trace of the huge forehead, or the paint or the suit. There were only full lips, shiny brown hair and a pair of rich, green eyes, looking down at them warmly without a trace of oddities or untamed divergence. His outfit was fairly simple, wrapping him in a long coat, dark pants and a simple shirt.

Eddie's jaw hung open freely, an action he would usually reprimand Richie for, saying he was going to 'catch flies', but now his head had gone completely blank. Richie wasn't going to do anything else soon, either, eyes even bigger, enlarged by the spectacles. Over there, Stanley and Ben presented a graven image of shock and disbelief at what they were just witnessing.

„This is not our creepy clown", Ben stated, trying to firmly convince his common sense into the sentence said by his autopilot brain, feeling a pang of guilt as the primary thoughts of Beverly were forcibly shoved aside. The Uris boy was left completely, hopelessly mute.

„I don't think I need magazines anymore", Richie managed a whisper. Eddie fiddled for the inhaler, hands visibly trembling, giving it a fair tug, unable to move his eyes off the stunning figure.

„I think I peed a little", he squeaked.

As if getting all the response it anticipated, the figure before them grinned widely, teeth perfectly aligned, nearly not giving any trace that Pennywise ever existed. Even his height was acceptable instead of absurd. The green eyes searched for Richie's, who looked like he could've melted into a puddle right then and there. He hoped the others didn't notice a teeny whimper that escaped him. ˮSo... which way do we go, captAIn?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the fluff...?

Before Pennywise, Eddie took the shortcut regularly. Neibolt was the only street he knew Bowers and the gang wouldn't intercept him on, or at least he hoped they wouldn't. Some days he would get so paranoid that he'd see Belch's blue mustang everywhere. However, he would always mind to skid past the rotten 29 well-house as quickly as possible without giving it a second glance. The air around it was just too wrong, and he couldn't imagine why any idiot would think it clever to stick around longer than that.

Look who's an idiot now...

Now the goosebumps weren't the problem, but rather, the house's host.

Judging how he never really saw him eat (and didn't intend to, either, lest he remains traumatized until the end of his life, but it wasn't the topic he wanted to let the thoughts linger on for too long), Eddie was certain the clown fed of attention. Wherever the Losers went, as a whole or partial group, or separate individuals, Pennywise had to have been there and let them know he was _there_ in every sense. Not once, either.

Honestly, for a billions of years old being, it all looked like he was _trying_ to behave like a toddler.

Like a worn-out recording which was still on-goingly been put back on, Eddie was marching from school, again on the Neibolt's cracked road that nobody thought of repairing. With how dull Derry was, it wasn't going to happen soon.

Or ever.

The street was unusually quiet — always has been — and the Kaspbrak boy was convinced the clown had something to do with it. The whole street was probably made up, because, hell, Eddie had only ever seen one resident on this street, and it was a blind old man. At least he thought he was blind; he wouldn't keep his eyes off the boy from where he was standing in the yard as he was passing by, not reacting at all at his polite greeting. Only the fact that he _knew_ someone else was keeping a close watch over him kept the germaphobe from running for the hills.

Eddie looked up when the rusty ol' falling-apart building came to view and immediately pointed his gaze back on the road. Empty. He had to keep his head _empty._

He didn't really have practice in that area, so he chose to point the flow of thoughts somewhere else. The house was looming tall, not quite obscuring the afternoon sun, and Eddie checked his peripheral vision for oddities behind the windows or on the porch, and kept his ears out for sounds that weren't rustling of the fallen leaves and distant wind rolling around the treetops.

Being mindful of the house, he wasn't aware of the pair of predatory eyes following his every move from their hidden place in the tall grass.

Just as the boy thought he was safe, something shuffled to his right. He stopped dead in tracks, already on the end of the road, unmoving.

_Oh no._

„Nope", was the only thing he was capable of saying. He was _not_ checking in on the random noise near the Neibolt house.

The small boy hurried forward, nearly striding into a run, when something jumped out of the grass with the most caricature-esque laugh he had ever heard, and flipped his head there just in time to see Pennywise doing a perfect demonstration of Van Halen's outstretched jump; the eyes on his face were beyond crazed.

In the next moment, he was on his back in another grass layer, on the other side of the road, straining an _ugh!_ while the world spun full 360 degrees above him, finally stopping on a large excitement-shaped face inches from his own, bearing a huge grin and sparkly eyes. The clown's large hands were pinning his shoulders down with effortless ease, and all fidgeting and squirming were as useful as a birdhouse in the middle of the desert.

„ _Hiya, Eds!_ " Pennywise's odd vocal chords gave nothing but fondness and levity, oblivious to the effect he accomplished. Not something the boy beneath his huge self was affected with.

„Dude!" Eddie tried pushing at his large chest, which was about the same as pushing against a brick wall, unable to get the grin off the thing's face. ˮAre you out of your mind?! You want me to get a heart attack or head fracture? _Get off!_ "

„With a heart that small?" Pen giggled at the boy's furious and staggered face. _Who else could he get something like that from, but Richie..._

„I don't have time for games, you fuckstick, _get_!" he pushed at the ruffles again, with the unchanged result. ˮSeriously, homework won't do itself, and there's a lot of it. _Due to tomorrow._ "

„You can do it here", the melodramatic painted face dropped the grin, and it was doubtlessly going for a frown.

„No, I can't."

„Why not?"

„Because you're gonna be a big bother, as always."

„No, I won't." Aaaand there's the frown.

It might've worked on Georgie, or Ben, or Bill or Mike, or even him at some point, but the last place Eddie wanted to be today was trapped below several hundred pounds of a-little-bit-too-friendly demon beast. Of all the Losers, he had to have been the only one in danger of facing Pennywise on daily basis, no matter the roughness of the week, while the others were safe till the weekend. ˮI said no. Are you gonna get the fuck off?"

„But I'm booOOoOred", the said whining ensued, and the boy was convinced he was going to explode right there. ˮ _Bored, Eds, bored, bored, BoREd..._ "

„Tough luck. And I have work to do. Nothing I can do here, Ding-Dong, sorry. Now please just le— _eep_!"

The squeak couldn't have been concealed, even if Eddie saw what was coming. The clown dropping his head to bury his moping face in the boy's stomach set the sensitive nerve tips off even underneath the layers of autumn clothes, and he barely stifled a giggle.

Hopeful beyond heaven the clown didn't notice, he picked his edgy mood as a leftover from an exhausting session of late classes and shoved it at the ambush-loving entity. ˮReally? You're going to sulk now? Can you go even more immature? Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're only pretending to— _gah_!"

The words poured into a growing laugh when Pennywise decided to rub his nose into his shirt, snorting audibly and further provoking the inevitable, at which point, somewhere in the certain back of his head, Eddie knew he was screwed.

„No", he found his breath in between the giggles, buckling anew. ˮNo- - Stop! _G-gerroff_! Don-don't you dare! Pen, I'm seri-" The giggles instantly turned into shrieks as soon as Pennywise replaced his nose with teeth and started to nibble at the stomach of his helpless victim, holding the boy securely pinned despite his increasing struggles. He obviously thought it would be funnier if he threw in the playful growls, keeping Eddie's hands off the target's range which offered him undisturbed access.

Buckteeth weren't helping at all.

At some point, Eddie managed to get his arms free and immediately pushed against the bulbous ginger head, doing his best to escape this horrid torture by all means, but it did him little, if not no good at all. Every time he thought he could push away with his trashing feet, Pennywise would claw at him to pull him back. All he could do was flounder with all his might, caged in an inescapable prison of the man-shaped monster, laughing his head off. He could only be thankful no Losers were present to see him sink this low.

The instant he began to wheeze and gasp plainly, Pen stopped his actions and went up to face him again, when Eddie reached up to grab at his cheeks, pushing against the newly-arisen, nasal snarls.

„Pennywise, the pestilence of humanity striking again!" he intoned with roars against Penny's own, still grinning when the clown threw in a sharp tooth or two for the effect.

After rolling in the grass for a bit longer, messing around and having fun, Pennywise finally crawled back to let the boy sit up and give him some well-deserved space. Still breathing heavily, despite getting a fair dose of air, he pointed the inhaler at the clowned face. ˮIf you peep a word of this to _anyone..._ "

Pennywise gave him a huge, wide, knowing smile. ˮOnly if you promise to come back tomorrow."

Eddie sighed heavily, realizing what he brought himself into. ˮI'm not getting out of this box, am I?"

„NOpe!"

The Kaspbrak boy tried to think of one damn good reason which would stop him from using shortcuts in the future. He found none. Or didn't want to. But the reason to worry was found in a bat of an eyelash as soon as he looked down at the state of his shirt.

„Aw, crap, _mom's gonna kill me!_ "


	20. Batucada Brasileira

Pen stared the squirming thing down, not blinking for some reason, even as the opposite party had done so multiple times already; obviously, the learned fact that the birds were excellent in concealing and blending into environment as well as being extremely patient ( _ˮI don't care, StanLEy."_ ) didn't apply to this one. It couldn't have blended anywhere if it tried. Except maybe in a field of black-eyed susans over at the Hanlon farm.

„Where did you get it?" Pennywise asked without moving as if the parrot swaying on the stick in its cage like it was dancing in place would go anywhere. It seemed too amused by the painted face before it to think about it, anyway, producing little, chirping noises, each one different than the previous one. It was mocking him, that much he was sure.

Ben looked up from the Physics book, the look on his face almost annoyed. It was difficult enough to catch up with all the material he's missed out while on the five-day holiday, but having a stash of questions walking on two feet following him around for two days as if afraid he'd suddenly go somewhere again, wasn't making it easier on him.

„I told you. Six times already. It was the carnival festival, of _course_ I was going to bring back a souvenir from an even that big."

Pennywise humphed, and the bird actually did something akin to a sneeze in response, lifting up one clawed foot to hook its toes into its beak. ˮYou could've brOUghT a chime."

„There's enough of that on you already."

A grumpy expression was already nesting on his face as Pennywise kept fronting the animal. It flapped its yellow wings with green tips, feathers bristling as it was cocking its head from left to right, looking by all means like it was challenging him.

_Attention-craving bugger..._

„You know, I actually thought of leaving him over at the Neibolt. I like him and all, but his screeches are a pain in the ass — can't focus on studying here."

Pennywise's head whisked around to stare at the boy whom he wouldn't leave be only two days prior when he was back from Rio de Janeiro, Brasil. The moment he felt the boy's presence back on the grounds of Derry, Maine, he went bonkers. Ben was convinced he broke a rib or two while he was suffocated in a bear hug when the Losers threw him a welcome home party at the well-house. Even as he's been released (after three painful minutes), Ben wouldn't be rid of Pennywise's presence that easily; the spoiled thing demanded to be hair-scratched for the rest of the day because Hanscom was a 'petting wizard' according to Georgie.

„Why would I want a _bIrd_?" the tone of disgust twisted his vocal cords as well as his face on the last word like it was a physical poison. ˮGive it to Stan."

Ben rolled his eyes in response. ˮHis parents wouldn't let him. Besides, Stan wouldn't leave my house for two days, and I barely shoed him out for how fascinated he was with him. _Guaruba guarouba_... he wouldn't shut up."

Pennywise gaze-battled the parrot companion for a few more minutes, snarling even, as it snapped its beak unnervingly close when he pushed a gloved finger between the thin bars. Why Ben thought it was a good idea to bring something like _this_ as a _souvenir_ was beyond him. Ben didn't even appear as a pet person in the first place.

„What's its name?" Pen asked, more out of principle than out of curiosity. Georgie once told him how it's always polite to inquire people for their own interests, especially if it's something they want to talk about. But from what he has heard by now, Ben didn't sound like it.

Alright... maybe he _was_ a little curious.

Receiving no answer, however, he frowned. Even the bird had stilled, turning his head to point one beady black eye at the clown. Pennywise looked over.

Ben's face was hidden between his palms, elbows resting on the table, Physics homework entirely forgotten. Not much was done, either, judging by half a page that was written with half an effort. Pennywise's alarms instantly went off, the damned bird immediately shoved at the back of his mind as he was instantly at his little friend's side, crouching so he could look at the boy from a better angle. His head still reached the pre-teen's shoulder, even as he couldn't see his face.

Pennywise nosed Ben's hip, blue eyes glistening with concern.

„Eggboy."

The Hanscom boy didn't react at first, even as Pennywise couldn't feel the bitterness of sorrow or anything remotely close to it, thank goodness. He could, however, feel the unmistakable heaviness of chronic fatigue, similar to what he would undergo right before each hibernation.

But then Ben folded his arms at the table's edge after a moment with a long sigh. However, he managed a tiny smile while shaking his head a little.

„It doesn't let me sleep. I still see it whenever I close my eyes. The parade after parade, the drums, the whistles, I hear it all", Ben rubbed his eyes like he was trying to wipe the remnants of the best experience of his life, lest he went completely insane. ˮI haven't slept in fifty-three hours then", he said, voice coming out weak as if meaning to confirm he wasn't lying. He scratched the back of his neck in an almost awkward manner. ˮHow could I? We were there both days. I daresay it was equally exhausting for the audience as it was for performers. But I'd never change a thing." He looked at his friend's striped face; permanent kindness seemed to be engraved into his own. ˮYou should've seen it, Pen", he drifted off into the distance, traveling the realms of memories to visit back what he had so obviously experienced to the core.

Pennywise rested his chin against Ben's thigh, looking up from below his eyelashes, eyes shining with genuine interest, and fondness, too. ˮTell me."

Despite the palpable weariness, Ben vividly talked about the _batucada_ percussion youth who served as an intro, the whistles all of them were given, the zany, freakish ceremony masters, the insanity the acrobats were doing — even meddling with fire—, the most majestic giant floats shaped as people, animals, dragons, palaces and even football fields, and not one was similar to another (in which Penny took the most interest, too), the music, the singing, the fantastic, unquotable atmosphere, and the impressive samba girls which Richie would've surely acknowledged the most.

„You would've fit right in", he added, grinning.

„No, I wouldn't", Pennywise answered at full pelt, lifted his head, then, instead of sulking, his face stretched into a heartful, excited smile. ˮI'd have bEsted tHEm all!"

„Sure you would", Ben said, in the most sincere way possible.

Realizing it had been left out with all interest on itself abandoned, the parrot decided to energize the air by flapping its wings in an almost aggressive manner, not forgetting to add in the silence-piercing croaks.

„ShUT up!" Pennywise barked, and Ben cackled at the absurdness of it.

„So what's it's name, then?"

The boy considered the question with a pensive pout on his lips, tapping the pen's edge repeatedly on the notebook. "No idea, actually", he said, sounding surprised. "I just call it 'the bird'", he looked at his extraterrestrial companion, who hadn't given up his spot beside the child, looking back at the caged parrot and Ben couldn't have been more convinced at that moment that he was mutely gloating at the animal. "What would you call it?"

Pennywise didn't seem to think long.

„ _Attention-FffFfrEak!_ "


	21. First encounter (BTS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As requested by the amazing grayorca. Be sure to check out her 'ITerations' featuring more good!Pennywise if you already haven't. :)

The cluster of screaming words was a mess beyond hope to be separately distinguished. It was a cacophony of things that might have or have not meant anything. Not that it was of any use, either. It was a human instinct to be loud and verbal and making _some_ sort of indication they were still existing while in life-depriving situation. Just the one which was slowly, but securely approaching from a few feet's distance. It was human looking, but bore no such movement in Its animalistic, predatory way It approached. In Its slowness, they knew, It was mocking them, craving for their fear and panic with all Its existence.

Even though Its eyes looked in no specific direction, Eddie was positive they were aimed at him; the first victim, the weakest, now with only one dispositional arm. Richie kept trying to turn him to face him, babbling something about not looking at It, while it was probably _him_ searching for a distraction; anything to not have to look at that hideous, deranged, mindless thing. But Eddie couldn't; even as his face was forced towards his distraught friend, his eyes were still glued at the being that was getting closer and closer — like a nightmare whose grip wouldn't falter unless it wanted it to. A prison of cement with no possible way out.

It was so close now. So close, in fact, that Bill could see a notable tear on the right knee of Its satin outfit. Quite a timing for his reckless brain to point it out; especially when the knee nearly rocketed into his face when the creature stepped up with a deafening holler that made them cry out simultaneously, arms theatrically spread apart. The Loser leader felt every edge of each nerve tremble with sincere panic and unsustained adrenaline when It reached out forward and the long-fingered widespread hands reminded him of spider-webs, ready to capture them all and drag them to the tenebrous, deaf depths where they would never be found again. He ducked his head against Eddie's shoulder, reaching for one last, pathetic excuse of a refuge when—

„ _Cut!_ Good, fantastic, it was great!"

There was an audible sigh coming from the kids while the giant clown figure stepped back, releasing them from figurative clutches of tension that were indeed tangible, especially around the group caging the cramped Jack. The devastated vestibule abruptly came to life with busy cameramen and co-producers shifting around the room, trying to do gazillion things at the same time.

„Crap, I need to take a piss", Jeremy abruptly scrambled among the hustle of people and expensive equipment and into the other room, and no one could tell for sure if it was really a case, or he just needed a serious break. Mainly because no one could blame him if it were.

„Aw, damn!" a light-colored cry pierced the air, almost rising above all others, possibly because it was distinctive enough to be noticed at first hand. ˮHey, can somebody fix my watch?"

„Oh- - I got it!"

Before anyone could react on either sentence and register whom the other voice belonged to, Bill was down in front of him in a flash and Jack couldn't help but flinch, the fresh memory of their first meeting less than half an hour ago still nipping at his brain. However, huge and uncanny, Bill obviously felt perfectly normal while getting to adjust the young actor's wristwatch, gaze probably serene underneath the painted layers of monstrosity, and the juvenile stars felt equally baffled and amazed at this sudden transformation.

Jack drummed the fingers of his 'injured' hand (that much he was allowed), feeling certainly more relaxed than before, humming a made-up melody as he patiently waited. Unlike the others, he already suffered a legitimate face-to-face treatment from Pennywise, which he doubtlessly denoted as the most awesome experience of his small career. Thus, he felt liberal enough to inquire: ˮIs it cold in Sweden?"

He could feel the 'are-you-kidding-me?' sideways look Jaeden gave him from his left, prompting him to return it, but Jack gave him no such satisfaction. Not taking his eyes off his trifling labor, Bill said, ˮAs much as it is hot in this suit."

„So, I don't wanna know."

A few chuckles lit up the little squad, including Bill's own, as he wrapped up the adjustments by giving Jacks' wrist a pat. ˮThere we go." Nodding at Jack's thanks, he got up to get back into position, when the working atmosphere was momentarily rocked after Andy proclaimed they had some audio issues. A couple of _'awww'_ -s conveniently hid Wyatt's hissed _'yes'_ , but nothing seemed to escape Bill's notice, like he really was an all-aware eldritch being, so he turned a little to give the boy a sneaky wink, who was trying his best to stifle a snort.

„You guys all good?" he asked from high 6,4 feet above, minding to give them all a separate, encouraging glance.

„Yeah." Jack nodded, the only one capable of verbalizing anything for now. Then his face lit up. ˮHey, you wanna get pancakes later?"

Bill grinned a toothy grin the kids had yet to acknowledge as his own, but his whole appearance already seemed a lot less scary. ˮTell you what", he bent over in his waist a little, much like when he exited the accursed fridge, but this time bearing a knowing look written in his lense-goldened eyes. ˮWe're gonna _make_ them."

„Alright!" Finn apparently couldn't hold back a laugh that escaped him through his renewed excitement, and Bill cognized the full view of six little professionals looking at him thrilled and awed at the same time. They had yet to meet each other properly, farther than shaking hands and saying names, but this was a better start then he'd expected it to be. Bill already felt more whole than he did a month before, on his lonely rehearsals.

_So much for keeping them terrified._


	22. Levantation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sinister (2012) OST; Soundtrack 03 – "Levantation"

It was nowhere near this cold in the morning according to his memory data, which was as reliable as putting a colorful, jolly box in front of a child and telling them not to open it, but Richie couldn't care because the comprehension had audacity enough to stick around for a maximum of three seconds. Irrational sounds and unexplainable things in the corners of his eyes became an impending gloom, whirled in the prison of this corporal mind. Everything became too much to be aware of at once and he gripped his ears firmly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, not thinking he'd changed this pose much. He couldn't decide if his room had become a figurative refuge or another prison. It seemed that wherever he went, he couldn't escape himself.

Five minutes? Twenty hours? Thirty seconds? Did it matter? The voices in his head wouldn't tell him. And they wouldn't leave either. In fact, nothing they whispered in this eternity-long period made any sense. It was as if the words intertwined with mumbling, like a shy toddler in a group of adults wanting to confess something only his mother could hear. They wouldn't tell him what to do when he asked, they wouldn't shut up when he yelled at them. For a while, Richie thought he had a culprit. He couldn't remember their name, though, but he remembered the certainty he held for the said culprit. It was their fault then. Now the memories were scattered in places just beyond his fingers' reach, and it wouldn't be fair to accuse someone he couldn't even remember, right?

Richie blinked and would've cried out at how much painful effort was required to perform such a bizarrely simple action had the exhaustion not drained him of every last drop of strength. As much as he would like to close his eyes and sleep, sleep, _sleep_ forever, something wouldn't allow him. It was the same hand that kept his eyes pried open, and every resistance committed against it was filled with futility as well as desperation. Now he was walking. Were his feet bare? He couldn't say for certain. But they were surely awfully cold. As was the dirty, wet ground they were uncontrollably plashing on. His heart hammered violently against his chest, even as he lost the ability to feel anything. Was he moving? He had to be — standing in place didn't involve motion. But there was also the knowledge, somewhere deep in his subconsciousness that was still living, that if he fell, he wouldn't get up again.

Richie's first party was in junior high. And he got smashed over his head, so much that when he woke up next morning he had no idea where he was. Not even if he was still in Derry. In the end, it wasn't easy to get over his parents' screaming when he found his way to the nearest familiar residence, which _had_ to have been the police, and snide remarks of Butch Bowers, who deserved to be told he was just an older, more mature and uglier version of his son, but hangover thankfully kept Richie's mouth securely shut as he endured through the whole ordeal.

Needless to say how he felt the rest of the day, and how hard he tried to sleep through it. But the horrid state of half-sleep he was left in prompted him to give a rational thought of never doing this again, as his state of wakefulness stretched on to unbearable forty hours. By the time the day's come to a close he felt torn in some form of not-dying and he remembered being terribly uncoordinated and paranoid, constantly seeing something in the corner of his vision. The following day, after getting a full ten-hour long sleep, he told his friends how it was certainly how the zombies felt, and that he would never underestimate the true beauty of sleep ever again.

But of course, Richie will be Richie, and the scenario repeated not once during the following course of years. And so it would circle around.

Something hurt. Richie stumbled to a stop and frowned as his brain stormed aimlessly a million miles an hour, and the belief that him stopping had something to do with the thoughts as well left him without any sufficient answer. However, rubbing his eyes seemed to help. Not with the vision. But instantly had the pain receptors swarmed, centered around one single spot – his stomach.

Richie gnashed his teeth together so firmly that he wouldn't have been surprised if they crumbled under pressure, feeling anger press against his frontal lobe as if it wanted to burst out. He won't puke again. There was nothing left to puke anymore, and he hated the feeling. It felt like someone had a random thought to repeatedly rake his insides for sport and then watch him heave and convulse on the verge of death for the millionth time. Shoving the thoughts away, the boy pushed on through the damp air, unsure how he got here in the first place. He didn't know where 'here' was, but his brain wouldn't allow him to ask himself anyway. Everything was so fuzzy lately, like nothing was left of him but a shade of what he once was.

Something wormed its way from the corner of his blurred vision and he waved his hand at it, uncoordinated, expecting it to perish as another illusion (they were really getting annoying now), but this time, it didn't falter a bit. The Tozier child squinted, like it would magically diminish his bad visual or the fact that his glasses didn't help either lately, which was odd. Wearing and not wearing glasses, at some point, became the same.

The shadowy movements ahead of him increased, mixing with weird, wailing noises in his disoriented ears. Richie stopped clumsily. He was freezing, and couldn't feel his toes anymore. The wet cold dug into him through his feet and rushed towards his limbs, hooking him in its vile grip, making his body tremble all over, but what else was new.

Apparently, what he was currently seeing.

Watching would've been a more accurate term since he could fairly admit he didn't _see_ anything.

But there was something moving there. A silhouette deformed out of shape, stapled to the ground, shaking violently, throwing a shadow over his own trembles. A dog?

_Dogs don't wail like crying women._

Something on the figure moved, and the wails abruptly stopped, like a needle removed from the phonograph record. Instantly, Richie could feel the sort of a force you'd feel when your subconsciousness was positive you were being watched. He took an uncertain step back, as the whispers in his head withdrew, opening up space for something he hadn't experienced for a while. _It was watching him._

Just as suddenly as it vanished, the wail returned, this time tearing though distinctive words. ˮ _Help me_ ", it said, sounding indeed like a weeping woman, but something was off in the way it spoke. In Richie's ears, it came twisted, way, way deeper than an ordinary woman would sound. He was swaying in place, long ago losing the ability to stand still, but stood his ground nonetheless. Whatever it was, it was far, and he was too weak to walk the distance, even if he wanted to. And he listened to his guts.

There it was again, only this time louder and more torturous. „Help me. _For the love of God, do something!_ "

Richie barely clamped his ears shut for how intensely his hands were shaking, and their thundering against his eardrums somewhat distracted him from the continuing cries that were beginning to turn into the shrieks of panic.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up._

_Think, think, think._

_You can't. You're weak._

His heart was already hammering against his ribcage, but he could only feel it just now, pounding against a barricade that wouldn't let it out. He was trapped. He was trapped, and he couldn't do anything about it. There was no will left for him to do anything.

When he dared to look up, the thing was trying to crawl. It grabbed frantically at the mud with its hands, clutching onto it, tearing the ground, trying with its _life_ to reach him. Richie could only stare. Should he run? Hide? Or smolder it in water?

Before he got to pull any of the suggested action, something changed. It stopped mid-crawl, shrieks dying out just as suddenly as the last time; and this time, Richie wasn't the reason. The boy let his hands drop when his ears started to ring, muting the atmospheric air down. The thing was as still as a statue, and he could've almost been convinced he made everything up, like all else before.

Until it was jerked away abruptly, and pulled back in an unnatural speed, screaming at the top of its lungs, into the tall blur that was grass. Screaming was muffled due to the ringing, but couldn't be ignored regardless.

Neither could the sounds contradicting it; they were just as off-this-Earth, if even more so. They ripped the air with growls, tears, gags, slurps and... just sounds that didn't belong here.

As much as Richie wanted to do _something_ , he didn't know how to perform the action. But while his motoric capabilities wouldn't budge, the senses soaked the other thing's presence in and wouldn't let him ignore the indicators. Little by little, the shrieking had melted away, almost in sync with his ears slowly unclogging, leaving room only to the horrendous sounds of _devouring_. Richie didn't need eyes to know what was going on, but was still finding it difficult to comprehend.

A flash broke through the cold dead darkness.

Make that two.

Two yellow dots flashing out of thin air, giving the boy the sense of depth, space and direction in this endless darkness he was lost in. The noises were gone, their finish unspecified, shrouded in an optic apparition which was levitating motionless above the ground, coinciding with a bizarre simulation of two perfectly synchronized fireflies.

They were eyes.

Yellow eyes.

_Richie?_

It hit him like a meteor hits the Earth's surface and sent a jolt throughout his whole nervous system. Unlike any other whisper that abided his head for so long, this voice felt very corporal and existing, and emitted emotion rather than floating around aimlessly. He couldn't say he recognized it, but the way his name was spoken tingled something akin to familiarity, and that fact frustrated him, as much frustration as he could endure.

_Richie..._

It called for him. The lonely delusional boy who could do little but blink painfully and rock on his weak feet like a sad, broken cradle. There was bitterness in the way his name was said, but not directed at him. If he didn't know better, he recognized it was the sound of scared and ashamed at once.

Aborigines use it, right? They have the same word for shame and fear. They deem it the same result of failure.

_Richie._

_Richie._

„Richie?"

The named boy frowned, feeling his name attack from outside his head this time, shifting him between realities until he comprehended what exactly and where from he had heard. The direction led him to turn around, settling the leftovers of attention he was still hosting at another blur a few feet ahead. This one was standing up straight, and he didn't know if he should find it threatening or not.

Still, there was something... familiar in the call. Comfortable, even. It tugged something from behind the dense wall of oblivion and momentarily separated him from the chasm's edge he was dangling on.

„It's alright", the figure repeated, uncertainty making their voice tremble. ˮW-w-w-we found you."

_Bill_ , the subconsciousness told him. Stuttering Bill. Yes. That was his name. Along with the name, his brain projected an image of the face, so Richie didn't need eyes to know who was there, a few feet away. However, the voice trembled with something more but just an inborn speech deffect.

Richie tried to say something, but whatever was meant to leave his vocal tools only produced a riven noise, unlike anything a human should be able to produce.

Several more figures appeared around him, equally blurry, but of various heights and forms, forming a half circle around the blinded youngster, like a pack of wolves encircling a weak sheep.

„Wha-" Richie licked his dry lips and tried again. ˮWhat are you doing here?" It was meant to be a simple sentence, but it scratched around his dry throat, barely squeezing out of its prison.

Wherever 'here' was.

„We c-c-came to take you home", Bill said. Richie didn't know for sure, but he thought his arm was held out: like he was trying to console him. Or stop him.

Richie's deluded mind ventured back to the yellow eyes and he looked back to see if they were still there, or, by chance, closer. However, there was no trace of them, or the screaming woman. Like the existence shoved them under the carpet and wholy declined their presence, despite the obviously visible lump. ˮWhy?"

„Richie, you haven't slept in six days."

_Eddie_

, the subconsciousness offered the voice recognition and Richie found himself nodding, like it was a separate entity, and not just another part of himself.

„It's just..." Richie spoke again, and this time, his voice figured out how to properly work, though energy invested made it barely audible for the audience to pick up. He kept his eyes pointed to the tall grass, as if anticipating the return of either of the two things he witnessed and couldn't ever comprehend. ˮIt's so... quiet here. It's calm and quiet..."

„It's always been quiet", the third voice agreed, and this time, Richie's subconsciousness had trouble identifying it, so he received no name. Well, it didn't matter. He had no will left to care. ˮBut, Richie, plea—"

„How do I know you're real?"

„You're not yourself", he heard Bill say. The voice was firm, irritated almost, and as such, dismissed the usual stutter, but Richie couldn't decide, if he had his clear vision back, if he would see fear rather than irritation. Voices in his head swirled up again, like wind repeatedly perking up, thinking it had been forgotten.

Suddenly, something within him crumbled like a primordial sedimentary rock whose mass was huge enough to cause an avalanche, and the shakes intensified as Richie's face crumpled up in soundless weeps. His head felt heavier than ever under the weight of everything he was not supposed to be experiencing and his stomach had twisted in frantic protest of another wave of nonexistent vomit. ˮI'm tired...", he cried quietly, but within, he was screaming in agony of uncontrol and mental torture. Tears wouldn't come — they had nowhere to come from; he had long ago dehydrated — but equally painful feeling of helplessness settled in the boy's chest.

„I'm tired, I'm... I'm _so_ tired" he moaned, bending forward, without realizing he was doing so, like he was yet again coiled in an unbearable abdominal pain. ˮI just wanna... wanna _sleep_ ", a string of spit inched its way off his bottom lip.

„We know", the third voice conveyed again, but was unheard.

„Make them shut up", Richie wheezed, clutching his ears again as the voices _crescendo_ -ed, helpless against their cruel touch. ˮShut up. _Shut up!_ " They were taunting him, mocking, poking how they'd never leave, that he would always remain incarcerated in this inescapable prison made of his own delirious mind, he'll drown in insanity he's crafted himself.

_Alone in this world._

Alone and blind.

_Who will save you now?_

The corporal voices from outside mixed with them in an indistinguishable knot of shrieks, and Richie had held onto them fiercely, as a last resort against falling into the abyss of madness. His mind went down the road towards unhinged and he could feel the ground slip as the blurry world began dispatching from the comprehensiveness of space and fall into the limbo of darkness. In the time span which might've lasted for a hundred years, or five seconds, he could feel his body being released from the tension of the bounds, like cargo being unhatched from a hook. A violent, painful impact finally shut out both his vision and the voices which now grew hectic in a millisecond, as if he never existed in the first place, and Richie was finally, after a long, long time, embraced in the void of silence.

  
  


The beeping.

Rhytmical, in a mild frequency, like clockwork, it gently filled his tired ears, but the sound didn't match the one of a normal clock.

Weird. That wasn't how death sounded. Death had no sound at all, and Richie was entirely convinced he was dead. He had to be. Why else would he feel this trashed, like Bowers had been beating him up for days, then cooked him in a giant microwave for a while, and then beat him up again.

Beep... beep...

_Beep-beep, Richie._

Was this a non-verbal, sound-effect reminder? He didn't even open his mouth yet. How rude...

_Alright, easy now, Rich-man. Nice and slow._ He took a deep, shuddery breath, and nearly choked at how painful the action was, even this pathetic. Like he had a huge, heavy rock perched upon his chest. He gritted his teeth and tried again, breath nearly hitching — like he had forgotten how to perform the action.

Hold on.

He tried to think. What's next? Obviously, the control over the actions was an indicator he was still dwelling somehow. Well, it would be in order to do something about it, then. Slowly, very slowly, he tried to collect his thoughts to one place and turn them into action.

Beep... beep...

His breaths were moderate now, as the soft beeping gave him a sense of rhythm and how to make it useful. In and out. In. And. Out. In. Hey, he was getting a hang of this. Maybe this afterlife wasn't gonna be so difficult after all.

„You idiot."

Well, that's new.

He opted to keep still and pretend he didn't exist, but quickly decided against it. It was always rude to not respond, and who was he but ever responsive? However, in order to perform the mentioned action, he needed to recall how to do it. How do you speak, now... You need air to do it, right? Yes. Air.

So Richie inhaled again and exhaled faintly and sharply, but no sound was formed, except a breath emerged a bit quicker. Wait, hang on, he's got this. He inhaled again, and clenched his throat a little and succeeded at releasing a small grunt. From the third try, he remembered to mold words.

„God?"

Success.

A tight-throated, whispered/wheezed success.

Beep... beep...

„You wish", the voice sounded irritated, and was too high pitched to belong to a supreme being. More than a little curious, Richie remembered he'd had eyes while he was still alive. Those two big funny things in your head. Useless most of the time, unless he had his optic accessories. Well, wouldn't hurt to try to open them now, right?

It was difficult for his motoric nerves to locate the necessary muscles at first, but after two or three seconds, he vaguely remembered. Head. That big ugly thing on the top of the body.

His eyelids twitched.

There we go.

Climbing back into consciousness, Richie slowly parted the facial windows, a muscle inch by muscle inch, squeezing them back shut right away. Light. Too much light. It had sent a nice gratitude-themed gift of pain into the center of his brain, where it exploded like a mushroom bomb on Nagasaki. Richie groaned again, and surprisingly, it seemed to help, even if just a tad.

Slower this time, he tried again. Narrowed into slits, his vision framed the blurry image of a white space illuminated by long LED lights and white walls.

Walls?

Does afterlife have walls?

And this downright _irritating_ antiseptic stench?

Beep... beep...

Richie allowed himself to open his eyes fully, rounding his eyeballs to capture the depth of his whereabouts. It wasn't as big and vast as he expected it to be. Man, was death a cliché, thinking it was all funny reminding of a basic _Derry hospital_ like this. Totally unoriginal. He'd have to consult whoever was in charge here.

He turned his head, slowly as ever, but his exhausted body wouldn't allow him to perform the motion faster. All of the energy was drenched from his person, both physically and mentally, making him feel like a dried out plump, but no matter how hard he tried, Richie couldn't remember why.

Someone was sitting next to his bed, in a chair. Someone and another someone, who was standing beside that someone, so Richie could only make out their hips and legs.

„Finally outdid yourself", said the sitting someone, and Richie's brain finally kicked in.

He scrunched his face up. ˮYou're not God."

„He'd be too merciful with you, which is something I don't intend to be", the light-colored voice responded back, rising up the volume to an unnecessary intensity, so Richie had to frown at the recurring pain. He managed to lift an arm and steer the hand to grip his forehead.

„How are you dead, too, Eds?"

„You're not dead", another voice joined the bickering, and it came from the standing figure. It was not masculine.

„You, too?"

Beverly scoffed humorlessly, giving Eddie's shoulder a pat. ˮPut them on 'im."

„Put what on 'im? Hell no, don't listen to that bitch", Richie slurred, bulging and struggling to move his body in the bed where he was settled.

„Relax", Eddie replied briskly, and Richie suddenly felt the weight on his nose and ears as the world miraculously purified through the thick frames of familiar glasses. Not realizing how much he needed them, Richie exhaled a bucketload of relief and sagged against the pillow. Having the majority of a problem solved, he risked a glance around.

True, it was the hospital of Derry. Stinky, old, dirty — good ol' Derry standards. The beeper's award went to an ECG monitor to his left right next to his germaphobic pal, who had a positively murderous look on his stoic face. Before he could crack his head open in search for the question as to why he deserved it, Richie's gaze stopped at the foot of the bed, where Beverly stood in a broad stance, like a fierce teacher about to lecture the class. In this case, him. The white blouse nearly blended her into the environment.

But instead of lashing out at him, she lifted a little plastic bag halfway full. Its content Richie could barely identify, still grasping the fact how he was still very much alive. It was an oddly colored powder; the color nestling in the small package was nowhere near natural, painting it in a specific shade of pale purple. Definitely not flour.

„Looks familiar?" she inquired, the look in her eyes an eerie combination of fierce and calm.

The gears were practically audible while turning in Richie's head in a snail's pace, whose face was nearly comical, but with the unfolded events behind them, there was _nothing_ to be considered funny. ˮShould it be?"

„Watch closely", not breaking eye contact, she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a lighter. Unhesitant, she lit the bag and held the tiny tool there until the fire licked at the plastic effortlessly, but before any content could spill out through the growing flames, she threw the object of concern outside an open window. Maybe the fact that she's done so without a single word was what made Richie shudder inexplicably.

„Was- was that supposed to mean something?"

„ _Amyloid X._ "

„Jesus, Joseph, and Mary", Richie jumped, startled afresh. To his right, Bill was leaning against the wall with arms folded across his chest, nearly unseen in the shadows. While his body was hidden in them, the blue eyes that shone from there were highly visible, and they pierced against his foolish friend.

„What the fuck are you on about?"

„It's a corticosteroid based drug", Beverly shortened the might-be stuttering episode; her stance didn't budge. ˮEnhances just what it was named after: the amyloid beta acids, a.k.a. whose elevation is spotted in the cases of sporadic Alzheimer's disease."

Before Richie could've thrown in a pesky comment (which, based on the blank-confused look on his face, wouldn't have happened soon), Beverly went on. ˮIt also messed up with your head and would've kept you awake for more than ten days up to which point you'd die. And no one could've saved you then. You were lucky, though... more luck than brain, is what you have. For some reason, you dropped unconscious in the Barrens after day six", she paused, and her eyes finally wandered away. ˮSomehow, it was wiped clean out of your system just like that... Like it wasn't even there in the first place."

Richie stared for a couple of more seconds. Then he squinted behind the thick glasses. ˮThat's a boatload of bullshit."

„Y-y-you think?" Bill hissed, and Richie nearly flinched again, not daring to look what he might find there. They have had their controversies before, but he had never heard him this angry before. It wasn't an explosive anger, but the quiet one, which didn't promise to leave for days, weeks maybe. ˮWhat do you remember, Rich?"

Richie mouthed automatically, but nothing left his non-stop jabber-tool as he realized no straining to dig around his head did him any good. Truly, the nearest memories he could reach were of their fourth sleepover at the Neibolt house, but as he searched for the time to put it, he could only pin it nearly two weeks ago. This left him puzzled, and more than a little scared. Could it really be? Was he so delirious that he had no concept of time? Or anything, for that matter?

Could he have really died?

If so, what had stopped it?

„You're clowning", he stared at Beverly, fully serious, then at Bill, then back at the girl. ˮYou're not clowning. Are you clowning?"

„I thought we had the 'drugs' conversation", Eddie chided, though the unease in his eyes spoke very differently.

„It was a free re-up", at Eddie's look, Tozier scoffed, not feeling nearly as nonchalant as he might've sounded. ˮOh, come on. If you hadn't tried it at least once in your life, you haven't lived."

„Gee, I wonder if that's what you'd say watching your own funeral", the smaller boy responded coldly, even as his voice shook nearly imperceptibly, eyes averted to the fiddling hands in his lap.

Richie gulped at this, choosing to eye the thin blanket he was covered with, instead. It had a stupid pattern, with tiny dark blue dots all over them, neatly distanced away from each other. Like that was supposed to be comforting or something. Stan would've enjoyed it here. Silence enveloped the room, save for the incessant beeps, and no one dared to do anything but breathing, even as Beverly twiddled the lighter between her fingers, pensive spark in her unfocused eyes. Richie observed the pulse oximeter on his left hand, wondering if, had he decided to rip it off, the accursed beeps would stop. He's heard enough of those already. For a good reason, obviously.

So he did no such thing.

„Sorry guys", he kept his voice quiet, but it all but boomed in silent space. ˮFor putting you through whatever the fuck I did."

He said it, and he meant it. It's been a while since he felt real shame, but now the feeling was perhaps the strongest. It crouched inside his chest like a spikey imp, and it hurt. God, he was such a loser. A selfish prick.

Eddie was the first to react after a prolonged amount of time, reaching out to clap a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. The look he offered him then was a lot less poisonous than before. „I know we can't really stop you from doing dumb shit", he said, voice calm. ˮBut don't do shit _this big_ anymore."

Richie exhaled a laugh, equally exhausted as his entire body, and gripped Eddie's upper arm in gratitude. He didn't even try to back away when the latter leaned in to wrap his arms around his friend and hugged him back unhesitatingly as they both chuckled openly. Richie could hear Beverly's laugh of relief, and the intensity of Bill's eyes boring into his back had decreased. Beverly didn't need to bother burning stuff — he was never going to approach anything that was going to get him in danger of losing his friends again. Or his own life. No matter what it was.

„Y-you really don't remember anything?" Bill asked after a while when the atmosphere had finally settled and tensions were loosed.

Richie tried to think, now that he's got an acceptable dose of answers and his brain wasn't as overburdened. Exhausted, yes, but rested. However, nothing fell onto his mind. His head was eerily blank; like there was a chasm on the path he was skating on, with no material to be filled with. Like a sky with no stars to orientate the lost voyager. Was this how Alzheimer's felt?

He was definitely doing more crosswords from now on.

Still, there was a nagging feeling pulling at the back of his mind, prodded by Bill's question, as if startled awake. Like something important had happened, and he was meant to know what, but the blasted amnesia was an impenetrable wall built against his will, preventing him from seeing it, even as he could discern its shape from behind it. It was so close, so palpable, so visible.

It was important.

But that was all his mind had allowed him to know.

„No.“


	23. Text Crawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An aftermath of a short, but brilliant RP session with grayorca, who, to her honor, did the whole writing, so the majority of majorities of credit goes to her. :D
> 
> Enjoy it, folks!

"No, Richie."

"Get."

"Shoo."

"...Looking for something?"

"My answer's no different than last time..."

"We're not even in the same grade, Richie. Sorry."

"Don't b-bug anyone else, Rich. Do your own."

And so on went the various rebuttals Richie Tozier faced in trying to help with- ahem, _borrow_ homework answers from the other Losers. After making a fourth unsuccessful circle of the overburdened reading table, he sat down and contemplated a fifth. With his pencil eraser tapping restlessly at the tabletop, there was little else in the study room to occupy his attention.

Homework. Later, always for _later_.

What didn't the others understand about that?

They were burning daylight.

And tomorrow was only _Wednesday_. They had the rest of the week to address this workload.

For fu-

"Richie. Quit scowling at us and get to it."

"I'm sorry, when did you start _working_ here?"

Beverly frowned, cheek resting on her fist. She glared at him through the sides of her clear blue eyes. "Since never. The sooner you get that done, the sooner all of us can get going."

"I don't answer to you, Library Assistant Marsh."

He sat up, elbows on the tabletop. Before him, there were so many busy pens and pencils, just writing away. So many tantalizing answers, just out of his reach.

"And I'd get it done even faster if one of you just let me- "

Six voices sounded off as one:

"NO, RICHIE."

Darn it.

Majority rules.

Faced with that overwhelming defeat, Tozier pushed away from the table, grabbed his discarded backpack, and headed for the door.

Beverly, surprisingly, had one last finishing salvo before he left the room.

Even if he didn't catch it all, it sounded suspiciously like:

"...not that you aren't smart enough to figure it out yourself..."

Scowl deepening, he left the room.

Oh, he would figure something out.

  
  
10 Minutes Later  
  


Homework completed, the Losers caught up to their missing member in a study room two doors down the hall.

The sight that awaited them there was wholly unexpected, though.

"Um..."

While the rest of him kept still, Richie's magnified eyes wordlessly glanced up, past the top of the yellowing, fine-printed pages. The enormous book in his hands had to weigh ten pounds, but opening to the center made the weight almost bearable. As long as he braced the bottom against the table, that is.

Just because he was staring at it didn't necessarily mean he was reading it.

Backpack hanging off one shoulder, Stan stepped up to the table. Then he was half bent over, trying to discern the title on the hardcover's spine. In big, flaky gold letters, it looked far too sophisticated to be a deliberate work of choice for Richie.

Much less be required reading of any kind for someone enrolled at Derry High.

"Why are you reading... _Vedic Mathematics?_ "

"No reason, actually. I'm trying to look smarter."

"It's not working."

Lingering just outside the door, Ben chuckled and mumbled under his breath, "Turn it right side up. That'll help."

Mike and Eddie barely stifled their obligatory snickers.

Smiling, Bill nodded in the vague direction of the library entrance. "C'mon, Stan. Leave Richie to his toils." To the Trashmouth, he made a clockwise twirling gesture with one finger. "You've got it the w-wrong way 'round."

Richie frowned. He had heard Ben said it the first time. Then he glanced back down at the hopelessly-untranslatable equations before him. So many numbers and uncomprehensible markings.

Hanscom was wrong. It wasn't upside...

Oh.

Maybe... it was?

Careful not to bump the cover's corners on the table (even if it looked like the least-egregous damage he could do to the battered, old thing; an original volume, copyrighted 1965, it was), Richie labored to turn the book over.

And as he did, the text promptly wiggled, the many lines of it _wiggled_ before his spectacled eye. Then - like it had been swept into life by a wide paintbrush - the words swarmed together like a colony of army ants, forming a round, black, baseball-sized spot upon the right page.

Before leaping off the paper, directly into his face.

Instantly, Richie Tozier knew just who to blame.

_Dingles, no!_

The chair gave a deep clunk against the floor as Richie jerked away. He toppled backwards off it, pawing blindly and wiping frantically at the cloud of letters assailing him. It felt a little like having sandbox sand poured all over you.

Infested with kicking fleas and a scattering of fine-ground pepper powder for flavor.

Like something out of a B-grade horror movie.

The rest of the club promptly erupted in laughter.

Save for Ben. He frantically mimed "quiet" and "shh" to no immediate avail.

The librarian had to be listening. Or one of her many underlings.

Eventually, they got ahold of themselves.

While Richie still flopped, flailed, and struggled helplessly. The cloud of overlapping letters, symbols, and numbers remained tightly pressed to his face, like a mud mask.

And thus he was rendered effectively mute for the first time in - let me check - forever.

Finally, an unsympathetic Beverly knelt down and slapped the back of his head. Her many bracelets gave a sharp _ting_ as they clinked together.

"Quit with the theatrics and get up."

To Tozier's surprise, the text scattered with that gesture. They flitted and whisked themselves away in middair, carried by a nonexistent breeze, back over the table's edge.

"What's wrong with Richie?" he heard Georgie ask.

Then another voice joined them, a low-key laugh that blended into a hum of false-consideration. "Hehmhmhmmm. No moRe than the uSual."

Holding the back of his head, Richie glanced up.

To him, the crowded doorway appeared upside down. But he recognized the two figures framed within instantly.

The youngest boy was grinning up at the smirking clown, who was looming over him from behind. "What did you do _now_?"

Pennywise simply grinned in response.

Richie coughed, sat up, and spit out a few stray vowels. As he watched, they flitted through the air like flies, to paste themselves back on the open pages.

Without turning around, he adjusted his glasses, not sure whether to seethe or to rest first. "Not fun, Stripes. NOT fun."

From his side of the room, Mike shook his head, smiling tolerantly. "Well, that's what happens when you try to be something you're not. If you can't handle the knowledge, don't open the book."

"So, that explains why I've never seen him check an encyclopedia," Stan muttered, closing the volume once all its text had recovered itself.

"What about a dictionary?"

"That, either," Eddie piped up, with a smirk just as unmerciful as Pennywise's.

"No! No more ideas, for me, for the clown, for anyone." Richie shuddered, scratching impulsively along both arms. He ruffled his hair to make sure there were no stragglers left. "Damn, those were itchy."

To his dismay, Pennywise took one big step into the room and was suddenly standing _over_ him, grinning that ever-insufferable grin.

Upside-down.

"It wasn't thAT bad, siLly. You're just aN exaggerator."

" _No_ , it was," Richie glared upward, through the tops of his eyes, still fitfully ruffling at his hair. "And that's not even a word."

The reincarnation of Noah Webster, otherwise known as Ben Hanscom, snorted. "Yes, it is."

"Ah-HA!" Richie closed his eyes in dread, flinching at the gloved finger that booped his nose. "GotCha!"

"What's next, then?" Stan asked, innocently, shelving the mathematics volume (presumably sentencing it to another twenty years of unopened inactivity in the process).

Richie climbed to his feet, adjusted his shirt. Tried to pretend the last five minutes hadn't happened.

_So much for that idea._

Never without a plan, Bill was the first to pose an answer.

"Scrabble, anyone?"

With an evil smile to boot.

Georgie didn't see the tragic irony. He smiled and bounced happily on his feet.

"Yeah! How 'bout it, Rich- ...Richie?"

The rest of the club blinked, glancing around, dumbfounded.

A boy-shaped puff of smoke hung in the air before them.

Followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, racing down the hallway.

Bill glanced sidelong at Beverly. "Tell me you still have the key to his bike lock."

With a smug smile, she held it up.

"What a dunCe," Pennywise cackled anew, bells ringing. "He ain't goiNg nowhere."


	24. Two-man job (BTS)

It was always quiet at this hour in the kitchen behind the studio, which seldom helped Bill to appreciate weekend mornings. Evenings and mornings were like shifting tides when it came to amounts of sound and people and atmosphere, but Bill was nothing but appreciative regarding silence. Noise could always be made.

That excluded the radio quietly muttering Pharrell Williams' _''Happy''_ ; the most catchy and cheesy song Bill has witnessed in his life since his birth in 1990, but the mood stood behind the name and didn't let the listeners down. Like _The Anubis Gates'_ Horrabin trapped and forced to rely on the stilts, Bill hummed along with the music in much the same fashion, going about the morning routine, coffee-making being an automatic sequence he could've done with his eyes closed by now.

He didn't technically expect anyone to enter this kitchen in a while since it was only several minutes after seven, and it was Saturday. But then again, most of the crew weren't even clubbing last night. 'Clubbing', if that was what you called hanging around in bigger groups in random places while he cut the hanging-out in half to get some decent sleep he so earnestly deserved. Now the kids were presumably hungover (on what? Coke? Hah.), endeavoring to clutch onto all minutes of sleep they can while able to rest their mind at last in favor of the upcoming weekend.

Well, that obviously didn't apply to all of them.

Giving his mug a final stir, Bill took a sip and with a satisfied sigh, turned around, the direction of his next whereabouts yet unintended, but mainly focused around the concept of 'relaxation'.

That is, he felt quite the opposite for a brief second when he noticed a small figure several feet away, the startling jolt his body had induced almost making the precious drops of the Turkish coffee spill. Was the music so distracting that he didn't hear someone else entering?

Now wasn't that an irony – him. Getting startled.

By this little guy, nonetheless.

Jackson looked up at him, expression simultaneously exhausted and pathetic, and in addition, those big brown eyes would've made anyone compel into anything the kid wanted.

Bill felt himself faltering under that look, and the boy promptly stole his attention from the coffee. ˮOh. Hey there, little guy. What's up?"

Jackson didn't smile as he'd expected him to, neither did he greet back politely as he would use to. Instead, that painful kicked-puppy look on his face kept boring into the taller actor. ˮI got a boo-boo."

The Swede nearly snorted, but then remembered. Illnesses didn't get far in range this summer or around the set members, but as ever, they always found at least one target. And that one, as unfortunate as he could be, was Jackson. The kid was all feverish and shaking for days, unallowed to leave his bed, and generally being fussed over constantly. 'Don't get used to it', Andy had joked when it had only started, while he was the one at Jackson's side probably second most frequent after the kid's own mother. The fever had cooled down a little by now, but it didn't take a second guess to know that the boy still felt like garbage.

If Bill was sick, he would've doubtlessly felt the need to be fussed over as well. Because that's what sickness does. So his face softened immediately.

„You got a boo-boo? Alright, let's fix that, shall we?"

Jackson welcomed it when Bill effortlessly lifted him by the armpits and set him on the counter to avoid the awkward bent or crouched angles. ˮAlright, where is it?"

The boy tapped his right underarm, shiny eyes ever pitiful as they met the older actor's. Bill could almost certainly picture Ossian in Jackson's stead. Similar age, and Bill was faced with similar situations, not unfamiliar with having to play the role of a helpful big brother. Being woken up in the middle of the night a couple of times left him trained in having to be prepared for everything.

„Let's see if we can find a patch around here..." the Swede mumbled while roaming around the counters in search for the needed aid while the seven-year-old leaned his face against the palm, fighting off the fatigue and the mild headache. Being sick sucked in more than just not feeling well. But that consistent feeling of not having will to do anything, not even get out of bed (he was still surprised as to how he managed that now) was what was really getting him. All the energy he would've had stored somewhere in him before was all sappy and nearly nonexistent. It was just exhausting.

„You want Masha and the Bear or Big Bird?" Bill's voice suddenly traveled to his ears. Looking over offered him the view of the Scandinavian meddling with a box of colorfully-patterned bandages. He didn't miss an amused smile tugging at the corner of his full lips.

Jackson's eyebrows lifted against a rising headache. ˮWhat am I, three?"

Bill's half-lidded look saying everything. ˮThree-year-olds say they've got 'boo-boos'."

Jackson snorted lightly in surrender while Bill was getting rid of sticky papers on the bandage, poised again before the boy who didn't even have the strength to rhythmically bump his heels against the counter. ˮAlright, where was it again?"

Jackson, the half-aware exhausted expression on his juvenile face, tapped at his underarm again.

This time, though, it was the left one.

Puzzled, Bill leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing in mock-suspicion. ˮCorrect me if I'm wrong, but didn't that boo-boo just jump arms?"

„Mmh." Jackson squinted on one eye, a knowing sparkle in the dark brown eye. ˮThat's one sneaky boo-boo."

He grinned as heartfully as he could, however, when Bill leaned in and rewarded him by pressing a kiss on his nose, delivering the smooching noise along the way for good measure, then rolling the sleeve of his pj's up and getting to finishing up the job.

Sure, Pennywise was the destruction.

But Bill was there to fix things, as ever.

Not five seconds later, everything was done. ˮAlright. All patched up, junior!" he leaned against the counter on his palms, each on either side of the boy.

Jackson admired the view of the Big Bird yellowing the spot above where he knew a tiny bruise was residing, but he still didn't know where he got it from. Satisfied still, he looked up. ˮHow much do I owe you, doctor Skarsgård?"

„No charge, Mr. Scott", the Swede grasped a hold of him and shook him from side to side gently, then winked. ˮWe'll put it on Andy's medical insurance."

Jackson laid an amicable hand on his shoulder. ˮYou're wasting your time acting."

Bill chuckled warmly, then carefully lifted the kid and proceeded to exit the kitchen in a slow, moderate pace. Wouldn't do the boy right to get nauseous because he couldn't stand Bill's large strides. He was getting back to bed, anyway. It was still early. ˮAnd what did you have in mind?"

„A full-time babysitter."

„Nooooo."

„Maybe drop by on the occasional kids' parties?"

„As a babysitter?"

„No, as a mascot, silly."

„Oh. Right."

The Turkish coffee remained sitting on the counter, doomed to getting cold.


	25. Tables turned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure crack. Sorry about that. Been watching 'Castle' too much.

„I told you, Bill. I _fucking_ told you."

Richie's words were poison, and Bill could feel it all the way from there, in the clown's deathly clutches. It was just another reason to moan in agony as he at last completely gave up on the futile struggles.

„I don't wanna die."

At Its menacing grin, Richie began pacing as to not having to look at Its face, counting on his fingers for emphasis. ˮYou punched me in the face. You made me walk through _shitty_ water, you brought me to a _fucking crackhead house—_ "

The being did _not_ like the title its residence was given and the grin instantly dropped to a dangerously low frown, and the grip on its captured victim tightened, but for once, Richie was immune to the look.

„And now..." Tozier reached over, pulling a fair-sized baseball bat which looked like it hurts, fixing his eyes on the unhinged entity, fury replacing fear in a flash.

„I'm gonna have to kill this fucking clown."

The yellow eyes burned even stronger as the being shifted—

But was immediately stopped, buried in place, paused, _startled_ , by a noise.

Not just any noise.

A ringtone.

Not just any ringtone.

_Tequila._

A globally familiar saxophone theme backed up by a guitar and the rhythmic percussion, echoing unmistakeably across the dark cistern. It came so surprisingly, actually, that even the everpresent, hungry tension reared back baffled, and if it had a face, there would be a definite frown of confusion planted there.

Richie's eyes traveled left and right. Beverly exchanged a slow eye contact with Stan, who seemed to be equally befuddled. Even Bill quit moaning and frowned, puzzled at this abrupt, snowball's-chance-in-hell unmistakeable change. Eddie and Ben, at the rear, turned their heads back towards the source of the noise.

Towards the only person who still stood stoically firm, crowbar gripped in a hand, ice-cold dark eyes staring forward.

Then Mike clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket. ˮ'Scuse me", he mumbled, turning around and flipping the old phone open just as the guy was mean to drag out that tardy, idle _''Tequilaaaa~''_.

„Hello? ...Yeah." Mike's shoes echoed throughout the giant space as he took a few steps away. Nobody of the rest dared to move, let alone speak. Even Eddie held back the ˮWhat the fuck, dude?! Did you seriously answer a call _now_?!" that was doubtlessly lingering on the tip of his tongue, but his jaw hung open apart just slightly, not allowing anything emerge besides breaths.

The clown's face was twisted into something torn between confusion and rage, and when Richie took note of it, he couldn't decide if it was dementedly creepy, or genuinely funny.

„ _WHAT?!_ " the whole group twitched violently, clown included when Mike whipped back around, and his face was beyond livid, unlike anything any of the Losers had ever seen on him. Not even Pennywise. The thundering remnants traveled up, up high all the way to the opening with floating bodies.

„What do you mean slipped away?" the farmboy's voice was as sharp as an arrow unleashed from the bow's string, and it successfully hit all of his friends. Richie, who nearly dropped the bat at the thunder, was now holding it hanging a few inches from the floor. Hanlon turned and started pacing, jaw firm and teeth gritted.

„Look I don't care how many cars he's nicked or where he went", Mike paused, back turned against the scene. He obviously thought talking quieter would do him good when every word successfully bounced off the damp walls, dip launching down and into the ears of the struck spectators.

„Find him, tie him up, cut off his toes, one by one, skin him alive, boil his brain, and if he hasn't talked by then, have Ballamara stuff him in the fridge and throw him in the ocean. And get. me. my. money back, or it's you who's gonna end up in the _fridge_!"

Hissing out the final sentence, Mike folded back the phone with an exasperated sigh and furious eyes rolled upwards with a long inhale.

„W-w-what the—" any noun that Bill wanted to utter was prevented by the gloved hand coming to cup his mouth. It effectively shut him up, but the look on the boy's face hadn't faltered a bit.

Exhaling, Mike turned around and pocketed the phone, carrying a neutral expression the Losers have witnessed on him on daily basis. ˮMafia these days..."

His posture was suddenly slackened, like that of a rebellious teenager, and he leaned on one leg, casually almost. Like hadn't just had a violent conversation with who knows who over the phone that made the rest of the Losers question who was more lunatic, the beast they've come to defeat, or a friend supposedly fighting next to them.

So they continued to stare, mute, awestruck. With the exception of It blinking once, expression unchanged.

Mike spread an arm out in question. ˮWhat?" if they didn't know better, he all but _scoffed_. ˮCan't a man have a hobby?"

An awkward silence stretched on for a few more moments, hanging in the air and making Beverly break eye contact and all of a sudden, the floor seemed very interesting.

Until Bill cleared his throat behind the gloved hand that still held his mouth, and it was all the trigger Richie needed, lifting the bat back up and snapping his friends back to reality.

„ _Welcome to the Losers' club, asshole!_ "

  
  


The club stared at the hole the creature had departed from a long while ago, scarcely able to believe the course of events that had just come to a close. Was it because they were all physically and emotionally exhausted or not recovered from initial shock yet, nobody cared to think it through. It was all over now, and that was all it mattered. To all of them.

Well... until _'Tequila'_ started up again, startling Stan out of whichever horrific trance he was trapped in. Mike didn't move his gaze from the gaping hole as the phone was once again on his ear, this time a lot faster.

„Yeah?“

...

„Oh, he paid? Huh. Weird, that doesn't usually happen, there's always somebody who screws up.“

...

„Well, ditch him, anyway.“

...

„Because that's what we _do_ , now cut the crap, and get the fridge."

_Click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mafia!Mike AU because if Mike isn't gonna get enough screentime, then there's no excuse for random AU-s like this.


	26. Paramnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Jeremy Soule - Njól_
> 
> Part 2 of 'Levantation'

It was this time of the year when spring decides to make a joke only it found funny, because it can, and because it's bored. Something in terms of, today is a bitey minus, aiming for the hatless heads and the main ammo being instant-cold for kids like Eddie, and tomorrow is plus fourteen, shorts, bikes, fifty liters of water in the backpack and the cold is left utterly confused.

So the Losers' club, save for Eddie ("The cold." _"So warm up."_ "Shut it, Ding-Dong."), decided to do the only thing they knew how to do on a day like this: get lost from school as soon as possible, find a refuge in the well-house from the mad sun and just do nothing because it was so damn hard.

Except for Richie.

„Beverly", not taking his eyes off the thin-papered crossword book, he pointed an index at the girl who just walked in, spring fatigue clinging to her slouch. ˮGreen vegetable."

She shook her backpack off, visible relief taking over the place in her blue eyes. ˮCabbage."

„...", Richie counted the squares with the pencil tip, face scrunched up in a perfect imitation of a grumpy pensioner. ˮDoesn't fit."

„Then buy a smaller head."

Her statement was accompanied by a couple of quiet laughs, the loudest frequency they were capable of producing on a hot day like this. ˮHardy-har...", Richie returned, even as his lip had contradictorily curved upwards on its edge.

Instead of lounging in Pennywise's lap like he normally would, Georgie didn't opt to do so this time, lest he wanted to get cooked alive in the ruffles of the costume, so he wisely took a position opposite the said friend, tapping his chin pensively at the board of _Mensch ärgere Dich nicht_. Even Stan, who had it brought in the first place and was sitting to his right, wasn't able to tell exactly what it was supposed to mean, but it was as frustrating as it was entertaining. The game, besides the three said participants, was occupied by one more, and that was Mike. Mike, who perked up like a lost pet found again when Beverly took a large bottle of brilliantly transparent water out of the backpack and held it out to the group sitting on the floor.

„I adore you", was the only thing he was capable of saying before uncrooking the top and starting to chug, oblivious to the girl's chuckles.

„I know", she smirked, then risked the glance at the situation. ˮWho's winning?"

„I'm definitely not", Stan grumbled, face in his palm while he used the other hand to point the thumb at the giant thing to his right. ˮHe ate me more times than Mike and Georgie collectively."

„Hee-hee", Pennywise giggled, bouncing with a flick of his head, bells jingling. ˮFun, Stanley."

Georgie giggled at the Jewish boy's eye roll, facepalming, and it took him a second to realize it was his turn to roll the dice. He didn't do as well as Penny did (who wouldn't pick any other figurine color but red), but wasn't the worst, either, so he had nothing to complain about.

„How do you even translate the game?" she asked, amusedly puzzled.

Outside their competitive gaming circle, Bill was on the floor, finishing up an essay he missed out on. ˮI t-t-think it's something in the terms of 'P-people don't argue with each other'." He shrugged at Beverly's scoff.

„Gee, what else would you expect from Germans?" Richie jeered from where he was laying on his back on the row of commodes, for once glad his germaphobic friend wasn't there to remind him how he sported a perfect example of a 'human duster, jeez, Trashmouth...' ˮTheir games of violence take after their supreme leader. _Sieg Heil!_ " he added for emphasis.

„How are you feeling there?"

„Fine, why?" he brushed her off, maybe too quickly, not waiting for a response. " _'Brother'_ in Serbian, three letters'?! Really? What did I ever do to this puzzle?"

„Aw, nuts!" Georgie cried almost simultaneously upon seeing a single dot on the dice, drawing attention back to himself. ˮI can't get around these."

„You just don't have a good hand", Pennywise teased merrily, reaching over to tap him on the nose when the boy glared up at him, failing to force down the grin. The only thing it could've turned into was a cackle when Pennywise's enthusiasm dropped in the shape of a pouting frown when Mike scored a six and gathered one of his red pawns, forcing it back to the beginning.

What a convenient timing for Ben's intro. Quite... direct, as well.

„Hey guys", his voice seemed to boom, even as heat could be heard pressing on in it, too. ˮLook what I've got."

The thing he displayed in his hands eluded all kinds of different reactions; from risen eyebrows to broad grins and snorts to absolute confusion displayed neatly all over Pennywise's face.

„What's that?"

„It's a b-boomerang", Bill explained. It seemed how his dedicated productivity for today has reflected on him. ˮIt's basically a w-w-weapon that comes back to your face."

Pennywise scrunched up his nose, eye slowly escaping to the sides. ˮDoesn't every weapon you make go bACk to yOur face?"

Bill had no doubt that by 'you', he meant humankind collectively.

A thought hit him, and Mike Hanlon grinned. ˮAaah, so if you have Bowers at your back, just throw it and duck."

Ben handed the smoothly curved thing over to anticipating Georgie, spotting the member isolated from their group. ˮYou alright there, Rich?"

Richie composed that face which could transcribe into the word 'obviously', but with three or four question marks following it. ˮAs healthy as Eds is sick."

„I only meant after what's—"

„I'm fine, okay, drop it and tell me the green vegetable."

„God, Richie, he was asking a simple question", Beverly immediately dove in to Ben's defense.

„And I gave him a simple answer", Richie's eyes never left the crossword, even as the pencil wasn't moving.

Beverly's I-give-up scoff was ignored, as well as Stan's muttered "You're impossible."

But it was Pennywise who stiffened, head gyrated like owl's, nearly 180 degrees around on the flexible neck, eyes laid against the resting figure. While the others might've been oblivious to it, the entity felt the thick barrier of apathy around the boy shiver and prickle like an electrical charge, coinciding with unsettling storm saturating the mind he couldn't reach. The black to the white of the boy's seemingly calm exterior.

„You didn't sleep", he said.

Richie's eye twitched. That was all.

Mike was the first — he was there to see him collapse, after all. ˮIs that true?"

The pencil was scribbling on the paper. ˮAnd?"

„Rich, is everything alright?" Ben clearly didn't miss the rising turbulence fighting to stay repressed in his voice.

„So what, I didn't sleep well, big deal."

„That's how 'the thing' started", Stanley raised his index for emphasis.

Georgie knew Richie was in the hospital, but was denied the answer as to why. So his next question wasn't not seen incoming. ˮWhat thing?"

This time, whatever control Richie might've had, was beginning to slip through his gritted teeth. ˮI'm serious, just drop it, I'm good, I'm not sick, and I didn't take anything."

„We didn't say that", said Beverly. ˮWe're just trying to hel—"

Without warning, Richie sprung to his feet from where he was laying with speed that managed to startle them all. This separated from them, it was like he was a stage actor, preparing for a play that was going to be anything but good.

„Okay, seriously, everyone stop. Enough. I'm fine. Do I look changed? Do I sound anything other but a fucking Trashmouth who likes to ruin your day every so often? I don't think I do. It's you who insist on pulling shit right now, and I don't even see the reason. It happened, so what, you can't change what's been. And even if you could, well _fuck_ it, I'd do it all again just to mess up your work. Now, I'm going upstairs for fifteen minutes and you all better get your shit together by the time I'm back, and if someone follows me, I'm gonna jump through the window."

That being said, like he just commented what kind of an ice cream he wanted for dessert, Richie did exactly as he said, leaving the seven blank minds behind.

Beverly's eyes shifted over to the abandoned crossword paper. It was half filled, somewhere with intentionally wrong, random words, distinguishable by one or two extra letters, unmistakeable features of the old restive, inappropriate-humor-ly boy they knew. But cutting straight across the middle of the page was a long, thick, _violent_ ugly graphite line, wrecking the overall composition and purpose of the page like a swift slit formed by a knife.

The girl looked up and noticed their number has slid to six with no sound or motion to signify so.

  
  


His overpowered skills were convenient for instances like this. Pennywise didn't usually bother to conceal any sounds which would announce his presence, but in this case, the sound of bells wasn't as welcome as it would usually be. There was no word of 'merry' in the air of the second floor where Pennywise could see the fled boy pacing up and down in front of a dusty window, breathing accelerated like Eds' after a game of tag. Soundlessly, he observed as the boy took one final stride and settled down on the edge of the floor riser, which divided the space into two different ground heights, ripping off his glasses, hooking a thumb in his mouth and trying to stabilize the thoughts.

Pennywise cringed at the feeling Richie had spread around the floor like a stale air of foul breath which couldn't have been that easily dispersed. Dozens of pangs hit his heart, and one of them, not surprising, he supposed, was guilt.

Guilt over doing what he'd had to do. Even if it had consequences like this.

„You know those guys with amnesia in movies?" Richie's voice resonated over the quiet room, and the clown was nearly caught startled. Him. Startled by the most-unlikely-to-startle-anyone club member. ˮLike, you've seen the events that caused it, but they still get bits of the memories... I don't know, through dreams, flashes, or they suddenly draw something somewhere without knowing they did, and they don't know _what_ it is, but _you_ know because you can relate it to what happened before."

„Richie..."

„I've got nothing", the boy shook his head, and the action was helpless, even as the clown couldn't see his face. He would never admit anything close to emotion, uh-uh. Not Richie. But here he was, leaking like a glass filled just over the tip and Pennywise didn't need any extraterrestrial abilities to note it. ˮNo dreams, no eurekas in shower or flashbacks when I'm bored the fuck out of my mind in History class", his voice trembled just a bit, like he was trying with all his force to shove hysterics back under, which stubbornly kept persisting against his faltering grip. ˮIt's like someone literally took a piece of my life and _cut_ it like Marsh cuts her fucking hair!" He emphasized by making scissor movements with his fingers, but the clown didn't think the anger was directed at Beverly, or her hair.

Pennywise chirruped softly, as if fretful of shattering the silence, then slowly got down on his knees so he could begin a slow, steady trip towards the boy who had his face in his hands.

„It shouldn't cope me this much, though", Richie said into his palms, and the sound was stranded and choked. ˮNothing ever copes me longer than five seconds. Fuck... But there was something", he gestured, talking into the empty air, while his interlocutor was only getting near from behind, and Pennywise was momentarily taken back to that fearful night, stopping to cringe soundlessly at the bitter memory. ˮIt was _important_. I know I _saw_ something in that delirium", a lonely tear escaped his left eye, a sign of pure desperation since he didn't show he was crying anyhow else and a hand went up to cup his mouth like he was nauseous all over again. ˮI saw something, Pennywise... I _know_ I did, goddamit."

Now seated next to him, Pennywise was having a battle of his own, debating the two sides of the answer road. Richie gave no body sign to acknowledge his presence until Pennywise tried to lay a comforting hand down on his shoulder. Immediately, Richie roughly slipped out of the creature's gentle grip and firmly batted the hand away with a strained, sharp, grunted "don't touch me" to accompany it. Pennywise whined softly, drawing back on his haunches at the boy's rejective nature, and the buried despair stung the alien more than Richie's defensive action. He was holding back so, so much, too proud to let anything out, too stubborn to admit how he felt, letting emotions gather like a nuclear bomb that was getting bigger and bigger with each passing year, but not ever allowed to perform its sole purpose.

„Perhaps some things are- are best left unanswered", the being said quietly. Uneasily. And Richie felt that. For he had turned his head to look up at the painted face, even as he clearly didn't see it. It was filled with anger and frustration and so many other things Pennywise couldn't have counted, but he swallowed thickly nonetheless.

„Easy for you to say", Richie's voice was like the lash of the whip. „You don't have a missing piece in your head which keeps bugging you with its presence anyway every single minute of the day. And night." he sighed, looking away. "Just... go away, man. Leave me alone."

Pennywise didn't show the slightest intention to do so, and Richie didn't inquire it further, and for a while, they were smothering together in a suffocating, painful silence.

After a while, Richie's mind had stilled enough for him to inquire: ˮCan't you fix it?" His voice was hoarse as a result of mental fatigue and stress. ˮI know you can, I saw you do it. With your little... magic thingy", the boy wiggled his fingers mockingly, without the slightest sign of humor. Or anything, for that matter. ˮYou can do anything you want."

Richie looked over. The sun drizzled its rays on the clown's pale visage, disagreeing entirely with their state of minds. He could see little, but those blue eyes certainly weren't pointed his way. He'd felt that, even as there was too much to feel already. For once, Pennywise didn't speak. Just kept... existing, and being there. Racking the silence and loneliness Richie would've had to endure by himself had this creature not had the need to intervene in everything.

So he gave up right away, looking back forward, no will within his reach to press the entity further. No amount of his usual antics would've elicited the answer out of the clown, either, he was sure.

Somehow, he felt the clown had already done what he could.

„Why does it hurt so much?" he asked instead, not Pennywise directly. It was a question hanging above his head for weeks now, months, years; it was banging on his brain, sneaking up from his subconsciousness out of the hole where the memories should be. But instead of them, the definite solution for his mind to finally settle, it kept surfacing repetitively, pestering him over and over again, deepening an already existing gap.

The bells chimed softly as Pennywise shifted, looking over at the boy, hesitatingly. ˮIt's okay to cry", he repeated what he had heard Beverly say to Georgie once, after a long brawl with his older brother. Had Richie been lucid to some extent, he might've been surprised, for it was the steadiest voice he had ever witnessed the clown use, subsided down to a whisper. ˮNo one should feel judged when they do."

And that was all it took.

Two or three seconds of nothing. Then suddenly, Richie snapped. But not abruptly, like a breaking dam or a soap bubble would. It was a leakage as slow as a heated oil or volcano magma slithering between rocks where it would eventually settle, cool down and form another solid layer. Bitter. Painful. Tortured. Richie's face crumpled and twisted in a bitter, repulsive expression as silent tears freely crawled down his cheeks, refusing, or not being able to succumb to real, loud sincere crying. The sobs shook his shoulders and body, and the boy bowed his head forward to clutch his hands at his bare eyes, beginning to shake against the scratching gasps between them.

Sitting by and feeling the prickling like a thousand needles stab from every direction was perhaps equally painful. Slowly, as to not startle him, Pennywise moved closer to lightly rest his chin against the boy's scruffy head and snake an arm around his fragile body to easily settle it down, little by little — as if Richie was made of the thinnest glass which would crack at the lightest touch. When the child didn't budge or snap at him from his silent weeps, Pennywise relaxed and gently pressed into him, settled to hold his little friend and feeling his own vision blurring.

So did the sight capture the eyesore — of two equally damaged souls, one ensnared in absolute oblivion and one knowing too much, but stranded mute by its own will. The clown figure blinked heavily, feeling small drops that leaked down his cheeks burn worse than fire, soundless against Richie's agonizing sobs, who was doing his best to keep them as quiet as possible without exploding with overwhelming grief and anguish, finally leaning over into the silver suit in silent acceptance and on-the-edge-of-nonexistence 'thank you', but Pennywise didn't need words to figure that out. Tears slid down his chin and onto the dark-haired scalp it was perched upon, but it could be the last thing Richie could feel at that moment. So the entity settled to squeeze his eyes shut with the shaky breaths through the nose, trying to focus on stabilizing their shattered energies, not daring to admit he had no strength even for that.

_Oh, Richie..._

_How can I fix it, when I've already done all the fixing I could?_


	27. I spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some good ol' humor on the account of English dictionary. Sometimes it's so fun not being a native speaker...
> 
> Anyone knows where this comes from? :D

„I spy with my little eye something that starts with... _M_!" To make it all the more obvious, Georgie actually looked at the mug located next to his elbow, resting on the doily on the table. As clever a the kid was, he tended to wreck the sense of the game with that particular smudge.

What a day for a together's work at the Denrboughs' house — mid-January when it's four p.m. and it's already dark outside. Definitely not an ideal time for homework making; Math would be ideal right about now, some logic to shake your brain into functioning.

Not Sociology essay on 'Rise of Extremism'.

At least those two doofuses had fun.

Well, fun to them, torture to the others.

Because even with such an easy concept to grasp, Pennywise still made his eyes depart in that classic, inane display of confusion he would ever have the need to sport.

„Ummm... mm... mmm..."

„Mmm—m-m", Georgie encouraged, with hand gestures, jerking his head slightly towards the said object for emphasis.

„M- m-muh-muh-"

„Muh... muh... mamamamama-"

"Mamama ma-ma-m-"

„ _Mug!_ " Stan nearly screamed, jolting like an atomic bomb in the chair on the other side of the table, unable to take it any longer; his volatile nerves made the pencil jump out of his hand and flip in the air several times before hitting the floor. The look on his face was livid.

That isn't to say the other Losers didn't jump as well. Opposite him, Bill's pencil dragged a hysterical, asymmetrical line of graphite across the halfway filled essay, as his owner spared his Jewish friend a glare of utter frustration at the fact he was going to have to do everything all over again.

It wasn't clear whether Georgie was truly oblivious to the outburst's cause, or did his kind heart decide to ignore it, but the beaming smile that shone on his face was genuine nonetheless. ˮAh, well done, Stanley, your turn."

The look of defeat on his face, Stan leaned on his palm and a deep sigh formed the words: ˮI spy with my bored little eye...", his eyes, as unimpressed as his voice, surveyed the small, lit-up kitchen, "something beginning with _T_."

In a beat, on the opposite side of the table with Georgie, Pennywise grinned. ˮBreakfast."

Stan blinked, lowering his hand. ˮWhat?"

„Ben's breakfast always starts with tea", Penny's eyes glistened with pure levity. ˮThen he eats a little sausage... aaaannnd... and then the eggs with sOMe solDiErs!"

„Cheetah, when I said it begins with _T_ , I was talking about a letter."

To that, the being turned him down, eyes drifting askew again. ˮNaaaaah, it never begins with the letter — the postman never comes 'till 10:30..."

Not bothering to grace the creature with a response, or even further explanations, ignoring Georgie's giggles, Stan didn't even look at the boy sitting to his right before leaning down to recover his pencil. ˮRichie, you look jobless, take over."

Idling, typically so, and leaving everything for the last moment, or no moment at all, the bespectacled boy was busy gnawing at the back of the pencil and balancing on the chair's back two legs, being untypically quiet by now. ˮAs you say, Stan the Man", his voice gave away an enthused vibe, like he couldn't wait for this dull monotony to change, then looked in an unspecified direction to ponder. ˮI spy with my little eye, something that starts with _R_."

„Oh!" Pennywise's arm shot up like in class. ˮ _Army!_ "

„What the frick-frack, diddly-patty wack are you on about?" Eddie's edgy nerves were a surprise lasting for so long, and he didn't share Georgie's mad cackles, or Pennywise's hopeful, open-mouthed grin. ˮAn army starts with an _A_ , he's looking for a word that starts with an _R_. Rrrrrrrr."

„Motorbike!"

It was blurted out in the same, impressive speed, but not from the supposed party. Instead, Eddie found himself, deadpanning at Richie on the other side of the table. ˮWhat?"

„Motorbike starts with the", and Tozier gave his best impression of _Yamaha's_ roar.

„Alright, alright!" Eddie tried to override the cacophony of the noise and the cackles of the two criminals who started all this in the first place. ˮMy turn. What begins with 'come here' and ends with 'ow'?"

„No idea."

„Come here."

Richie leaned over the table, additionally to might've chanced a peek at Eddie's essay as well, which was just the naiveté the germaphobe had counted on. With one hand, he flicked the pencil's edge against the bridge of his glasses, not gently, and Richie found himself losing balance he obviously thought he had in a little finger with a spluttered _'ow!'_ somewhere during the process of falling.

Eddie followed the muffled _'thud!'_ the fallen chair with a body perched on it had produced with simply lowering his attention back to the text. ˮThere."

Bill, who hadn't bothered to talk through the whole ordeal, knowing there was no sense in trying to stop Georgie and Pen's unsuppressed laughing, gave an exhausted sigh, pencil scribbling on a fresh page. ˮI'm not inviting any of you guys n-next time because there won't be the next time."


	28. Bathtime

„No."

„Yes."

„ _No._ "

Beverly gave a few final-decision nods, expression unchanged. ˮYes."

Pennywise looked at the infernal thingamajing with a mixture of horror and disgust. He huddled into himself like a woman when she sees a roach from thirty feet away, almost hissing. Honestly, when he saw the homeschooled farmboy and the highschool girl, no one could blame him for being enthusiastic. The other Losers still had classes to attend and this was the first forenoon to have company on after a long, rainy weekend.

Must've been a real comedy watching the enthusiasm drop off his face when he saw the situation evolve. He should've predicted what they were up to as soon as he saw Mike setting a huge, old trough in the middle of the yard and filling it with tanks of water he and Bev dragged along on their bikes.

Now he was certain he could've gone another day without visitors.

„But I don't wannaaa" he whined, doubtlessly having gathered it from Georgie's countless displays of a temper tantrum, even as it was on the account of his dignity, _trying_ to bribe in some mercy. ˮ _Why?!_ " 

„A) you stink, and B) You live in the sewers. Any other questions?"

„Mikey", he moaned at the dark-skinned boy, eyes pleading. Just like Georgie could've made Pennywise do anything, any of the Losers could've done so with Mike, the clown included. The boy was all heart, and 'no' barely existed in his dictionary, and Pennywise knew, if he was going to get away with it anyhow, it could only be over him.

Not this time, apparently.

To his response, Mike smiled apologetically with a helpless shrug. ˮSorry, Schizophrenic. She's the boss."

The mixture of betrayal and grouchiness (which usually followed if whining didn't work), crawled onto the painted face next. The slouch shrunk his enormous height and Beverly stepped over, laugh ringing. She patted his temple, bringing his attention to herself. ˮHere's the deal, you big stink." She latched her eyes against his, firmly. ˮYou be nice now and take it like a man, and we're gonna stay here all day and have a nice hanging-out afternoon, huh?"

That would've usually compelled the creature into doing anything.

However, his next gimmick, which couldn't have been predicted anyhow, left both club members baffled; an invisible eyebrow rose on an unimpressed face, and he held out a hand and crooked the gathered gloved fingers upwards in a 'you-can-go-higher-than-that' gesture.

Mike choked on his own laugh. „Now, who'd you get _that_ from?"

Beverly turned to give him a mute counterquestion of _'who-do-you-think?'_. Realizing his bargaining skills have improved over the passing months, she crossed her arms and shook her head at their big friend, knowing there was only one thing left to say. ˮAlright, we'll play your damn _Twister_..."

  
  


„Hold still, dammit!"

There was no malice in Mike's words as chuckles inverted his words along the way, but the fact that the clown didn't hesitate to fidget around from the moment he managed to stuff his enormous, still-fully-clothed self in the improvised bathtub (knees ridiculously sticking out in this crouched position, too), didn't make it easier for either of them.

But to Penny's credit, he didn't pop out of existence like he could have. Instead, the amount of leftover whining was drowned out when Beverly literally had to push him in the trough, glad she remembered to put on old clothes she wouldn't feel sorry for. Honestly, for a being constantly residing in such close proximity to water, Pennywise behaved like an appalled, very much insulted cat.

From the start, at least. But five minutes in, while Mike was scrubbing at his still-clad back and shoulders with something that suspiciously reminded of a toilet brush (ˮDon't look at me like that, Bev, it's a new one." ˮNo, I mean, how convenient is it, considering where he lives."), and water was getting impressively filled with dirt and who knows what else, Pennywise discovered the wonder of 'swimming in place'. That is, it practically included splashing his enormous hands on the surface repetitively, much like a dog who's thrown in water for the first time and realizes how fun it is. Needless to say how Mike and Beverly didn't pass unscratched; Mike had to back up from what he was doing every few seconds to avoid a violent splash, but the broad grin was never off the farmboy's face.

This newfound joy was abruptly toppled as soon as Beverly decided to splash a spare bucketful over the clown's head, making him yelp and spit at the cold touch while the girl snickered.

„Bev!" he spluttered, shaking his head to get the dripping bangs out of his yellowing eyes. Sun glittered off the droplets sliding down his grouched painted face and no stripe of red was out of place, and whichever aspect of the clown's abnormality the kids decided to ascribe it to, they didn't even bother.

„Yeah, yeah, you're gonna love this part, though", she said, splatting a fair amount of shampoo on her left palm and atop his hair which, wrapped in the veil of water, adopted a dark auburn shade. Before the protest could even start, though, she began scribbling with her nails. His hair never grew, so he was spared the might've-been haircut, and when Beverly's in question there, hide all the scissors.

Instantly, the eldritch being relaxed entirely, as if the switch's been flipped off. His shoulders slackened as did his jaw, and those change-predisposed eyes nearly rolled to the back of his skull. A broad, esthetic smile stretched over the pale face, letting drool drop freely down the ruby lips.

Sadly, no matter how scalp massage worked on him like a morphine on the comatose patient, it only lasted for so long until it was all broken with a violent wince and a cry from the clown's part.

„Ow. Ow, ow _ow_! It burns! _It burns!_ Owww, my eyes! Bevvie!" Wet gloved hands came to clutch at the topic of the wailing, and the outcries shortly overstepped the boundaries of normal.

Beverly couldn't believe she was dealing with such melodrama in person, and her eyes rolled for themselves. ˮClose your eyes, dumbass", she reached over to flick him on the forehead lightly. ˮShampoo burns, haven't you ever— oh. Right."

„Rinse them with water, that should ease it up", Mike advised amicably preparing another, hopefully final bucket of water, while Pennywise was still busy clawing at his eyes in a frantic, desperate attempt to free his eyes of horrid torture.

„Are you crazy?" Beverly scoffed, rounding the though to better see what she's doing from the front, gesturing briefly at the content of the tub which was beginning to resemble the water flowing in Pennywise's home. ˮHe does that, it's gonna render him half-blind and his eyes are gonna sting for the rest of his life. There's no—hold- - Pennywise, for God's sake! _Hold still_!"

Alas, it was hard to do so while you were having a torture session with soap chemicals swirling in the most sensitive part of your body, and even though invulnerable in many senses, the entity's chosen form was still constrained and very much physical. Prone to environmental strikes as much as anyone else's body. But unused to this kind of pain, there was no other option in his mind but to shake his head from one side to another, thinking it would be helpful in any way.

Beverly's comment, however, didn't work for the better. The entity abruptly froze and looked up, face pulled into a frown, eyes bloodied from the burning pain, irritating his irises to adopt a yellow shade. ˮ _Hold still...?_ " he half growled, making Beverly pause her work; a trail of soap snailed down the side of his face. ˮHow abOUt yOu TRy to HoLd still? When I do _this_!"

Beverly was smart, focused and independent, and the latest thing that managed to surprise her good was meeting this guy. But the same guy's reflexes are obviously meant to be ever the faster than her.

With one snake-fast movement, Pennywise's hand lunged out and gripped Beverly's underarm — it fit halfway into all of his long fingers, not ungently as it did — and pulled.

The girl's mouth could barely shape an 'o' and form a clumsy yelp as she lost the footing against the trough's edge and completely lost the hold of gravity. Inevitably, Pennywise didn't need to inflict anything else as her traitorous weight did it for him and she dived facefirst into the dirty water. No sharp edges colliding with her head, thank goodness.

The clown immediately gave in to unstoppable cackles at the result of his ploy while his tub-buddy trashed around, trying to get a grip. Further away, Mike was clutching his knees, fighting to not fall over in a laughing fit that combusted his lungs and broke the dam of silent comfort around the 29 Neibolt yard. He didn't think he laughed that hard in a very long while.

Beverly's head cropped up from the dirtied surface like one of Jodorowsky's _Dune_ worms. The gasp she took was at the same time filled with a belated reaction of shortage of breath and directed at the sniggering thing before her. It was more than comical. To see the girl who didn't display this kind of expression as often. Pennywise knew he would have to keep it stored inside his memory box for as long as he could.

„ _You!_ " she cried, and the outrage lined inside it seemed too feigned to be real. It had to be a while before she regained her composure, seeming to have forgotten she was kneeling in muddied water with an entity whose laughter kept growing.

„You big, dumb, sewer-dwelling, brain-deprived, clinically-stupid—" through the insult sequence which would've put Richie to shame, she attempted to regain her ground in the sloshing water, clothes clinging to her completely wet form while attempting to bat away the gloved hands that tried to pull her in. Worse than being ambushed into a pool of filth? Being trapped in a wet bearhug.

She easily managed to avoid that, though, stumbling out and skidding her palm on the water's surface to splash Pennywise in the face for good measure, silencing his obnoxiously loud laughs in exchange for a ridiculously offended expression.

„What are you laughing at?" the girl said to the still convulsing, untouched member of the trio who instantly realized he was screwed. No running and trying to escape around the trough could save him from Beverly tossing a bucketful of water and soaking him whole. Mike failed to suppress a yelp, but managed to avoid grabby gloved hands that threatened to make him suffer the same fate Beverly did. Still, it didn't stop them from circling the clown's tub, trying to splash each other as the day stretched into early afternoon.

Finally, upon being given the permission — even sooner than that — Pennywise jumped out of the wet prison, landing effortlessly on the ground and dripping all over the now wet grass. The puffs of his suit were sagged against him, making him appear a lot thinner than he usually looked. His hair, all soaked up and dark, sticking around his face, turned him into a greased metalhead lookalike. However, the look of the dirty water he left behind was satisfying, to say the least.

„There we go, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Either ignoring her or demonstrating his own version of an answer, Pennywise stood still for a second, locking his feet firmly into the ground. It might be that both saw it coming right then, but neither managed to react in time. Time was irrelevant in general, but with Pennywise, those chances were absolute.

Giving it a light start at first, but then diving in with all he had, the clown began a shaking session akin to ones the dogs do to dispose of the water after a long swim in the lake. Mike never understood why they did it — it's not like it was going to magically make them dry, but a dog's brain is its own, and no matter how long the man had kept it domesticated, he would never get a full grasp of it.

Accompanied by the bells ringing almost epileptically, the droplets riddled everything that had the misfortune of residing in a circle of seventeen feet. Two teenagers who didn't even get to lift their arms in defense included. The reflex of faces scrunching up wasn't a helpful attribute. Their unwanted shower wouldn't make much difference against their already completely soaking wet selves, if it wasn't for something else splattering across their faces and tangling in their hair, barely, but still felt.

Was that drool?

It didn't take another second for the bells to silence down just as abruptly as they started when the creature quit its frenzy. The self-satisfied muttering sniggers were the next to fill the air and it was a sign enough for Mike and Beverly to think it was safe to open their eyes. Mike gave them a single, deliberate rub with each hand to get rid of a not-so-small amount of thick substance before doing so.

The sight was as impossible as the creature itself, so the two of them weren't as bewildered as they should've been.

Pennywise stood there, tall as ever, hands by his sides — completely dry. The puffs on his shoulders and pantaloons were all puffed up, all right. The cuffs hung freely around his hands and ankles, all frilly and jolly, no longer resembling dead flowers, and the neck ruffle that had the need to boast around all the time was never whiter before. Atop the wide forehead Richie liked referring so much stood an unmistakable crown of fiery tufts, all down to that swirly, puckish lock in the middle. Not a hair was out of place.

Best of all... he was still stinking like before.

Like nothing had happened.

But the mirth in those eyes told them everything.

Karma. Karma was truly there behind every step. Only sometimes it decided to intercept you just to prove it was really there.

„You scumbag, you had this in plan all along, didn't you?"

Mike's accusation didn't leave nearly as negative effect as it was supposed to, especially from his part. When the clown kept giggling, he could only shake his head, unable to stop grinning as he did so. ˮShoulda knew when you agreed that easily..."

„And now Twister!" Pennywise jumped in place at his scheme-drawn victory, hands all but clapping in joy. " _Twister, Twister, TWiSTer!_ "

With her hair and clothes still dripping wet, screaming for an adequate shower, Beverly paused to observe their mascot with a mixture of incomprehensibility and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. She would make sure to mark this memory colorfully for the grey dullness of the days to follow. In any aspect, whatever trouble she would have to face once she came home, this was definitely worth it.

„Mike's right", she chuckled. "You _are_ schizophrenic."

_An adorable, hopeless schizophrenic if she ever saw one._


	29. Déjà vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"A flower's purpose is simple and immutable. Human purpose is fickle, because it is a slave to a memory. Memories must be strictly managed. Unproductive ones must be eliminated."_
> 
> Part 3 of 'Levantation'.

Richie Tozier burst out of the bar's door like John Wayne pushed the swinging ones in one of his western movies, not even trying to pause his step to see if he was walking right. The fresh night air compared to the smoky, stuffy inside nearly made his head spin. To provoke his cerebellum even more, he threw his head back to take a nice gulp of beer that was still sloshing around the bottle. The bartenders didn't ask questions about this sort of thing. The image of a minor asking for alcohol didn't seem the least bit deplorable to them. They didn't care.

All the better for him.

The lazy, heavy steps of his walk didn't cease as he downturned the bottle and let the golden content spill across the asphalt. It made a wacky pattern, like a drunken snake slithering along with the rhythm of his movement. Something that didn't perk up the curtains of Richie's amusement, however everpresent it might seem. Those curtains, to an eventual grand relief of his friends, were doomed to stay closed for quite some time. If he ever got to put his pieces back together.

When the last drop has left the bottle, Richie took a mean swing that, were it aimed at anyone on the other end, would've given all false hope to the guilty party for living on. With the momentum that would've made the insidious fly jealous, the bottle was launched into the sidewalk's edge, smashing into thousand glittering bits, rivaling the hanging stars of the fresh night. The shattering _staccato_ that followed wiped out all evidence the said bottle had ever existed, minus only a million shiny pieces, like the worthless scattered jewels of a false mistress.

Broken.

Like him.

Untouched by the scene he pulled, unnoticed by the lingering men lounging in the bar's proximity and chattering in a drunken haze, Richie's steady rhythm didn't falter as he pushed on from the outskirts of Derry and towards the town's heart. What was the bar called again? _The Left Hook_? Something like that. Mike made mention of it once. Richie remembered the aforesaid fact only when he found himself in front of the pub.

Well, it was as good a refuge as any other. Far enough from everyone and everything. It was a shade of life, secured like a remote island in the middle of the ocean filled with living aspects, separated from the rest of the world and fortified defiantly for souls like him. The ones who seek to find themselves.

Had anyone known of the state he was in, Richie didn't suppose he'd be surprised to find out they were utterly revolted. To the point of even abandoning him, maybe. But this was the only way he could forget.

Forget that he couldn't remember.

A shade.

Richie strode down the long stretch of the road that led straight towards town. It was completely rid of lights, and if it wasn't for the full moon to brighten his path, the boy would've surely stumbled blindly, most likely losing the footing in the process, getting completely lost and sidetracking from the road. In those instances, even his glasses wouldn't help. Nothing related to vision helps against pitch darkness. Every blind man knows that.

He couldn't tell the time. But last he checked, it was a bit after 3. That would make it around 3:30, 4 a.m. Perhaps he could still make it home unnoticed and collapse into bed before his parents awake to go to work. And start pounding on his door about how he was to get his lazy behind up and get ready for school or he was banned from the arcade for a week.

Fuck school.

Richie began humming a song that has left in his ears from the cozy insides of the bar, completely out of tune. Could be Marvin Gaye, or Patsy Cline. Or _Squeeze_.

„

Oh, yeah. That was Patsy Cline.

He was singing a woman's song.

Pathetic. Could he sink any lower?

Some people might've squinted at the lack of fear the boy was displaying. Really, anyone normal would've felt uncomfortable; walking on a dead quiet street with no lights, surrounded by the thin patch of trees and bushes, completely alone, with no crickets to accompany their singing, relying on nothing but the moon.

Not him. Richie was long past the point of irrational fear like unknown beasts ambushing him from the bushes and tearing him to pieces to eventually devour him. Through the course of past few months, he's learned a thing or two about the world that he didn't know. Frankly, no one knew but the rare participants of a certain club which held frequent meetings in a house that was the source of the children's nightmares all around the neighborhood, and scary stories were based around the said place.

No. If there was anything he had learned lately, it was that the term of fear was an illusion. As was courage. There are no knights on the white horse. Either you ride the horse, or you don't. And the dragon on the other side is nothing else but life punching an obstacle after a fucking obstacle under your feet. And then snickering when you tripped like it made the best stunt-joke in the world with a volunteer who was definitely _not_ volunteering.

Once you bring these points to realization and connect the dots, you realize there is nothing to fear but life. And Richie was living.

Barely.

The teen stopped dead in tracks, and it took him a second to realize that he did. Then it took him another second to notice that the humming had stopped. There was nothing to be heard then. Not the rustle of wind, or the damn crickets, or the owls or even the leftover music in his ears. Nothing. It was almost eerie.

For whichever retarded reason his legs thought they had to stop, the boy offered himself a mental bitchslap. He grumbled weakly, still chained with the leftovers of a half-drunk daze, but tried to sharpen the visual of what his lenses urged him to focus on.

It didn't take long to locate the source of the pause since the thing stood out in the dark like a kimono-dressed woman in the middle of Japanese military march. Better say, things.

Two dots of light shimmering from the bushes some fifteen feet away. Still as a painting, unblinking. Were he in English class, Richie would've commented it was a nonsensical imagery, like from one of the avant-garde poems where a farmer hears a cow quoting Geoffrey Chaucer, whilst Geoffrey Chaucer is seen standing in the field, mooing. (That one time English lesson was fun.) It looked all too unrealistic in comparison to the darkness that had befallen the Earth. Not like two stars descended down from the sky. These dots looked far too unnatural for that.

Then he was struck. Bombarded to his chest and shoved backwards on the feet insecure from shock. At first, he thought it was physical because it surely felt like it; he stumbled with a faint 'ugh!' and had to bend over when a flash blitzed before his eyes.

There was half a second of _something else_ before his eyes. Not the image he was supposed to see and which his brain was meant to project. It was the same darkness, the same set of absurd dots. Only the flash of this image conflagrated him with a torrential wet pressure all around, the damp air that crawled underneath his skin and entered his bones, making him weigh a hundred tons. It cracked his skull to seep into his brain, soaking it up with vinegar and burning it.

He was somewhere else.

It wasn't fear of those predatory eyes in the bushes that had his stomach climb up his gullet and get stuck in his throat. It was the recognition of the said image. Completely the same, different time.

A memory.

A cipher.

Not even thinking, Richie frantically reached out, clawing and grabbing, detaching himself from his surroundings in this desperate fixation, but he could already feel it starting to slip the following second. Like a speck of dust seen in the sunray fleeting an enclosing fist. It went further and further away just as violently as it had arrived, and the boy was completely helpless against it.

But he had grazed it. Ensnared what he had grazed. Locked it in a tight chest secured with multiple ropes to ensure it didn't escape. This image, this damp feeling of heaviness, however meaninglessly short it was. Ah, no. Not to him. To him, it was all but meaningless.

Vaguely, still recovering from an invisible punch, Richie became faintly aware of the rising noise — a monotone persistent shrill coming from his left. The darkness around retreated along with it, enveloping the road in a pale gleam and creating cell shading on the growth around it. As it got louder, the noise became more distinct and Riche turned to find the source.

Faster than he would like, the boy could see two blindingly white flares getting bigger and bigger as they approached unavoidably fast. He squinted, convinced two supernovas exploded right before his eyes, shrilling with all their might, roaring in the background.

His reflexes were faster than him: he sidestepped, tripped and staggered backwards just as the thing of noise bolted past him so close that the air it disturbed ruffled his clothes and hair.

The car was still honking while shrinking into the distance, never losing its original speed, two red lights blinking on its rear. The honks only stopped after several seconds. Or maybe they didn't, the maniac was just too far away to be heard. Soon even the red color vanished from far away, and the odd silence befell the place once more. Like nothing had disrupted it in the first place. Like he wasn't just nearly killed.

Breathing heavily, Richie blinked a few times to bring himself around. He heaved, but refused to allow a single bit of just-consumed alcohol to leave his body. He needed it. There was a hole in his mind that needed filling, however temporary it might be. It could be restored. As long as it kept him from going insane.

Something rustled a few feet ahead and Tozier's hair whipped his glasses with the speed it jerked around.

There, from the same bush hosting those two unnatural dots. The leaves shivered and snapped as a creature leaped out, making Richie jump with a gasp. The harsh sound he produced probably startled the animal just as same as it did him. The boy could barely distinguish a brown smear that leaped across the road and vanished on the other side.

A fox.

Just a fox.

„F-fucking mutt", Richie's teeth chattered together like it was minus ten thousand degrees, despite the night being fairly warm. The fact that the part of his mind in charge of mocking compared him to Stuttering Bill almost made him angry.

But there was this captured chest. The one that puzzled and petrified him at the same time. It was either that or the fact that something so small could ravage and rip apart all his defenses and reduce him to this. He replayed its content before his eyes over and over several more times, the blitz that was shown to him, triggered something upon seeing that fox, but the same feeling that followed afterwards could not be repeated again. That boat had long ago sailed away, and now Richie was left on the shore with paddles that no longer had a use.

The hole wouldn't be a hole for long.

Richie stumbled again, this time in a desperate hurry to get back home and process in peace what he had just lived through. His steps weren't nearly as ponderous as they once were. The song wasn't to be heard anymore. It was replaced only with rapid breaths, even as the boy did no such thing as a physical strain.

Up from above, the Moon was mocking him.


End file.
